“But you dare not,” cried Gray.
“You are too cunning, far too cunning, clever Britton—Ha! Ha!”
“Away! Away!” said Learmont. “Come, Britton, we waste time.”
“Ay, and precious time, too,” added Gray, “only Master Britton is so very—so extremely cunning and clever.”
“Come, come,” cried Learmont, seizing Britton by the arm.
“Nay, do not hurry away,” sneered Gray. “Shall I offer you refreshments? ’Tis some distance to Westminster. Will you go by water, cunning Britton?”
Britton’s passion was too great for utterance, and he walked to the door, which he kicked open with a violence that split it from top to bottom.
“You will like to hear, Squire Learmont,” said Gray, “that all is right. I will do myself the honour of paying you a visit to-morrow.”
Learmont turned at the door, and cast a glance at Gray, that even he quailed under, and then, followed Britton down the staircase.