Before Chatfield, moaning and groaning, could find his voice capable of words, Marston Greyle, pale and excited, came round a corner of the ruins.
"What's this, what's all this?" he demanded. "Here, yon sir, what are you doing with that stick! What—"
"I'm about to chastise your agent for his scoundrelly insolence to your cousin," retorted Copplestone with cheerful determination. "Now then, my man, quick—I always keep my word!"
"Hand the stick to Mr. Marston Greyle, Mr. Copplestone," said Audrey in her demurest manner. "I'm sure he would beat Chatfield soundly if he had heard what he said to me—his cousin."
"Thank you, but I'm in possession," said Copplestone, grimly. "Mr. Marston Greyle can kick him when I've thrashed him. Now, then—are you going to beg Miss Greyle's pardon, you hoary sinner?"
"What on earth is it all about?" exclaimed Greyle, obviously upset and afraid. "Chatfield, what have you been saying? Go away, you men—go away, all of you, at once. Mr. Copplestone, don't hit him. Audrey, what is it? Hang it all!—I seem to have nothing but bother—it's most annoying. What is it, I say?"
"It is merely, Marston, that your agent there, after trying to turn Mr. Copplestone and myself off this public foot-path, insulted me with shameful taunts about my mother's poverty," replied Audrey. "That's all! Whereupon—as you were not here to do it—Mr. Copplestone promptly and very properly knocked him down. And now—is Mr. Copplestone to punish him or—will you?"
Copplestone, keeping a sharp eye on the groaning and sputtering agent, contrived at the same time to turn a corner of it on Marston Greyle. That momentary glance showed him much. The Squire was mortally afraid of his man. That was certain—as certain as that they were there. He stood, a picture of vexation and indecision, glancing furtively at Chatfield, then at Audrey, and evidently hating to be asked to take a side.
"Confound it all, Chatfield!" he suddenly burst out. "Why don't you mind what you're saying? It's all very well, Audrey, but you shouldn't have come along here—especially with strangers. The fact is, I'm so upset about this Oliver affair that I'm going to have a thorough search and examination of the Keep and the ruins, and, of course, we can't allow any one inside the grounds while it's going on. You should have kept to Chatfield's orders—"
"And since when has a Greyle of Scarhaven kept to a servant's orders?" interrupted Audrey, with a sneer that sent the blood rushing to the Squire's face. "Never!—until this present régime, I should think. Orders, indeed!—from an agent! I wonder what the last Squire of Scarhaven would have said to a proposition like that? Mr. Copplestone—you've punished that bad old man quite sufficiently. Will you open the gate for me—and we'll go on our way."