"Oh, I'll go, but first I'll tell you this—"
"I think not, Mr. Flowers—no, I'm sure you won't!"
Ravenslee's voice was soft and pleasant as usual, but before the burning ferocity of his eyes, the merciless line of that grim, implacable mouth, before all the hush and deadly purpose of him, the loud hectoring of M'Ginnis seemed a thing of no account. Beholding his pale, set face Hermione, sighing deeply, shrank away; even M'Ginnis blenched as, very slowly, Ravenslee approached him, speaking softly the while.
"Get out, Mr. Flowers, get out! Don't say another word—no, not one, if only because of 'that dog-gone fool Heine!' Now go, or so help me God, this time—I'll kill you!"
Hermione leaned her trembling body against the table for support. And yet—could it be fear that had waked this new glory in her eyes, had brought this glowing colour to her cheek, had made her sweet breath pant and hurry so—fear?
M'Ginnis stood rigid, watching Ravenslee advance; suddenly he tried to speak yet uttered no word; he raised a fumbling hand to his bruised and swollen throat, striving again for speech but choked instead, and, uttering a sound, hoarse and inarticulate, he swung upon his heel and strode blindly away.
Then Ravenslee turned to find Hermione sunk down beside the table, her burning face hidden between her arms, her betraying eyes fast shut.
"You are tired," he said gently, "that damned—er—I should say Mr. Flowers and—other unpleasant things have upset you, haven't they?"
Hermione made a motion of assent, and Ravenslee continued, softer than before:
"I wanted you to make up your mind to come away to-night, but—I can't ask you now, can I? It—it wouldn't be—er—the thing, would it?"