The editor defended himself with a chair.
“What business is this, of yours?” he yelled.
“Miss Bryce is going to do me the honour of marrying me, and you’ll jolly well see how much it is my business. Put down that chair, it is words for you, not blows. Mr. Bryce, if the ladies will leave us, we can settle shortly with this gentleman.”
Max and Miss Watts lost no time in obeying the hint.
“Close the door, Isabelle, please,” he said to her.
“Who is this man?” demanded Mrs. Bryce.
“Don’t talk! If that creature hurts him,” said Isabelle, her ear at the door.
There were sounds of angry voices inside, loud argument. Then silence. After what seemed a long time, Larry opened the door.
“Come in, now, please.”
They filed in. The editor was huddled in his chair. He was pretty much to pieces, nervously. Larry held up a package of letters.