Sam Brown does get up, stupidly and slowly, looks around him bewildered, with a dazed, blind look.
“You hits uncommon hard,” he mutters, when he becomes fully alive to the position which he occupies.
“Certainly, I hit hard when I hit at all. You insulted me and, more gravely still, your sister. I am perfectly ready to marry her; but she will not marry me. Can you put that into your brain and understand it?”
Sam stares and rubs his aching head.
“Lord, sir, do you mean as Hann hev jilted you?”
“Oh, Sam, how can you!” cries his sister.
“I believe that is what you would call it in your world,” says Bertram, with a slight smile. “Your sister does not wish to marry me. She thinks—perhaps she is right—that I am not worthy of her.”
“Oh, Mr. Bertram! I never——”
“She is my dear little friend, Sam,” continues Bertram; “she will always be my friend; and if you presume to slight or worry her in any kind of way, you will have to deal with me. You know now how I treat affronts.”
The youth is still stupid and ruefully rubbing his pate.