Mr. Wycherly again lifted his hat. "The fact is," he said, "Montagu has been engaged in the rough and tumble. There has been a great deal of tumble and a fair amount of rough. But no serious damage has been done. I think, however, that the sooner he gets home and changes the better." And yet again lifting his hat and holding out his hand to Montagu, he prepared to go on his way.
But the Misses Moffat were not satisfied. "And you let him fight?" Miss Maggie exclaimed reproachfully. "Oh, sir! do you think it was right?"
"Yes, madam," Mr. Wycherly answered boldly. "I think it would have been wrong to interfere."
"But you did interfere," Montagu exclaimed in injured tones. "I'd have killed him if you hadn't."
"Killed who?" shrieked Miss Jeanie. "But this is dreadful——"
"I really think," Mr. Wycherly interposed, "that we must get back at once. Good-day to you—good-day."
And seizing Montagu's hand, he fairly ran from the Misses Moffat in the direction of Remote.
Miss Esperance met them at the gate. When she caught sight of Montagu, she, too, gazed in wonder and consternation, and ran out to them, crying, "What has happened? Has he been run over? Is he badly hurt?"
"This," said Mr. Wycherly, pointing to Montagu, "is the result, my dear Miss Esperance, of a sudden manifestation of—the Bethune temperament."
Miss Esperance flushed a most beautiful pink. She stooped and kissed her great-nephew's most uninviting-looking countenance.