"Never, my dear Ronald," cried Mr. Chichester, turning at last. "You are unfortunate, but you have always met disaster—so far, with the fortitude of a gentleman, scorning your detractors and—abominating charity."
"C-charity! damn you, Chichester, d' ye think I-I'd accept any man's c-charity? D' you think I'd ever drag Cleone to that depth—do you?"
"Never, Barrymaine, never, I swear."
"Why then—leave me alone, I can m-manage my own affairs—"
"Perfectly, my dear fellow, I am sure of it."
"Then sir," said Barnabas, rising, "seeing it really is no concern of yours, after all, suppose you cease to trouble yourself any further in the matter, and allow Mr. Barrymaine to choose for himself—"
"I—I have decided!" cried Barrymaine, "and I tell you—"
"Wait!" said Barnabas.
"Speak!" said Mr. Chichester.
"Wait!" repeated Barnabas, "Mr. Chichester is—going, I think. Let us wait until we are alone." Then, bowing to Mr. Chichester, Barnabas opened the door wide. "Sir," said he, "may I venture to suggest that your presence is—not at all necessary?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Chichester, "you will certainly compel me to kill you, some day."