“Confound it!” said Mr. Pendyce. “It's—it's damnable!”
And as if answering for all that depended on Worsted Skeynes, the spaniel John deeply wagged that which had been left him of his tail.
Mrs. Pendyce came nearer still.
“If George refuses to give you that promise, what will you do, Horace?”
Mr. Pendyce stared.
“Promise? What promise?”
Mrs. Pendyce thrust forward the note.
“This promise not to see her again.”
Mr. Pendyce motioned it aside.
“I'll not be dictated to by that fellow Bellew,” he said. Then, by an afterthought: “It won't do to give him a chance. George must promise me that in any case.”