Jabez came to her relief.
“Miss Ashton is under my protection, sir; she requires no other escort.”
The words were cool as those of a man who, having his temper well under control, did not choose to quarrel, though his pulses were beating like drums. With cool effrontery his old antagonist looked him full in the face.
“So it’s you again, yellow-skirt! A nice fellow to protect a pretty girl: a fellow without skill to defend himself, or spirit to resent an insult;” and the speaker’s red lips curled with derision.
The eyes of Jabez kindled and his teeth set. There was no lack of spirit, but not the spirit of which common brawls are made. He was anxious to get the trembling Augusta away from the gathering crowd.
Madame Broadbent, shorn of half her pretty train, came up aghast.
“Young lady! Miss Ashton! What is——”
A wave of the silver-braided sleeve set her aside, chafed and indignant at the freedom and impertinence.
“Keep out of the way, Mother Broadbent. Look after the rest of your lambkins. Miss Ashton’s cousin and I propose to see your pupil home.”
“All right, Augusta,” said Walmsley, thickly; “we’ll see you home.”