"Sir George Tressady!"
George stopped.
Burrows came quickly up to him, his face crimson.
"Is it by your orders, Sir George, that Mr. Madan insults and browbeats me when he meets me on a perfectly harmless errand to one of the men in your engine-house?"
"Perhaps Mr. Madan was not so sure as you were, Mr. Burrows, that the errand was a harmless one," said George, with a cool smile.
By this time, however, Burrows was biting his lip, and very conscious that he had made an impulsive mistake.
"Don't imagine for a moment," he said hotly, "that Madan's opinion of anything I may be doing matters one brass farthing to me! Only I give you and him fair warning that if he blackguards me again in the way he has done several times lately, I shall have him bound over."
"He might survive it," said George. "But how will you manage it? You have had ill-luck, rather, with the magistrates—haven't you?"
He stood drawn up to his full height, thin, venomous, alert, rather enjoying the encounter, which "let off the steam" of his previous irritations.
Burrows threw him a furious look.