"What do you mean?" he demanded—"What right have you to speak of her in such a manner?"
Leveson recoiled, startled by the intense pallor of Walden's face, and the threatening light in his eyes.
"What right?" he stammered—"Why—why what do yon mean by flaring up in such a temper, eh? What does it matter to you?"
"It matters this much,—that I will not allow Miss Vaneourt to be insulted by you or anyone else!" retorted Walden, hotly—"You have never spoken to her,—you know nothing about her,—so hold your tongue!"
The Reverend 'Putty's' round eyes protruded with amazement.
"Hold—my—tongue!" he repeated, in a kind of stupefaction—"Are you gone mad, Walden? Do you know who you are talking to?"
John gave a short laugh. His hands clenched involuntarily.
"Oh, I know well enough!" he said—"I am talking to a man who has no more regard for a woman's name than a cat has for the mouse it kills! I am talking to a man who is an ordained Christian minister, who has less Christianity than a dog, which at least is faithful to its master!"
Leveson uttered a kind of inarticulate sound something between a gasp and a grunt. Then he fell back on his old snigger.
"He-he, he-he-he!" he bleated—"You must be crazy, Walden!—or else you've been drinking! I've a perfect right to speak of the Abbot's Manor woman IF I like and as I like! All men have a right to do the same—she's been pretty well handed round as common property for a long time! Why, she's perfectly notorious!—everybody knows that!"