"If you'd give me time to speak——" each word was measured—"you'd find there's no need to insult your daughter!"
"Shall I—you puppy—you!" for the shaft had sped. "You leave my house first—This minute—see?"
He pointed down the stairs with a hand that shook.
"You git—now!—I'll have no truck with you!" He was back once more in his master grocer days.
"With pleasure"—McTaggart stood his ground—"when you have listened to what I have to say. I shall call on you at twelve to-morrow, Mr. Cadell—to ask you for the honour of your daughter's hand."
Melodramatic?—with a touch of the South, but not without a certain youthful dignity.
The very fact of this, of the young man's breeding, served but to remind Cadell of his own.
"I tell you," he boiled, "I'll have no words about it. Marry Cydonia——? a pauper like you!" He fought for his breath as McTaggart smiled. "You can call if you choose and be damned to you!"
Peter bowed, outwardly calm. He turned his head once. Cydonia had vanished, safely sheltered in the house-maid's bedroom.
Then, leisurely, he walked downstairs, conscious that the moral victory was his.