“Shirley,” he said.
“You are presumptuous,” she quavered.
“You set me an example in presumption,” he retorted good humouredly. “Did you not call ME by MY first name a minute ago?” He glanced toward Colonel Pennington and observed the latter with his neck craned across his protecting stump. He was all ears. Bryce pointed sternly across the clearing, and the Colonel promptly abandoned his refuge and retreated hastily in the direction indicated.
The heir to Cardigan's Redwoods bent over the girl. “You spoke to me—after your promise not to, Shirley,” he said gently. “You will always speak to me.”
She commenced to cry softly. “I loathe you,” she sobbed.
“For you I have the utmost respect and admiration,” he replied.
“No, you haven't. If you had, you wouldn't hurt my uncle—the only human being in all this world who is dear to me.”
“Gosh!” he murmured plaintively. “I'm jealous of that man. However, I'm sorry I hurt him. He is no longer young, while I—well, I forgot the chivalry my daddy taught me. I give you my word I came here to fight fairly—”
“He merely tried to stop you from fighting.”
“No, he didn't, Shirley. He interfered and fouled me. Still, despite that, if I had known you were a spectator I think I should have controlled myself and refrained from pulling off my vengeance in your presence. I shall never cease to regret that I subjected you to such a distressing spectacle. I do hope, however, that you will believe me when I tell you I am not a bully, although when there is a fight worth while, I never dodge it. And this time I fought for the honour of the House of Cardigan.”