‘You are threatening me!’ he demanded, in a voice of suppressed rage.
‘I shall not confine myself to threats very long,’ was the breathless reply.
Otho’s eyes looked dangerous still, but he seemed also amused, in a curious manner.
‘Then it is about the little girl that you have cut up rough. Lord bless you, she isn’t worth thinking about twice!’ he said, bursting into a loud laugh. ‘Which was the worst, eh?—she or I?’
‘You blackguard!’ said Camm, between his clenched teeth. ‘I’ll——’
His hand was raised, and there was fury in his eyes. The words seemed surging in his brain, and burnt upon his heart. The tone of them lashed him to perfect madness. If he had got hold of Otho’s collar the results might have been unpleasant, but he felt Gilbert’s hand on his arm, and Gilbert’s voice whispered in his ear—
‘Don’t you see he is just leading you on? You are not a prize-fighter, if he is. Let him go!’
Roger’s hand dropped. Otho was watching him with a look of hatred in his face which was far stronger than the sneer which his lips tried to form. He was insolent, and he carried the matter off with a laugh, but it had roused his worst hatred and his blackest animosity.
‘I said I would go in three months,’ said Roger, constrainedly, clenching his hands down, to keep himself under control; ‘but you have made that impossible. You can look out for yourself from this moment. I will not darken your doors again, if I can help it.’
With which, picking up his hat, he pushed Otho unceremoniously to one side, and walked out, leaving the others to make the best of the situation.