"I trust, madam, that I have not slandered Mr. Paxton."
"You trust so, do you? Mr. Franklyn, will you come forward, please, instead of hanging behind there in the shadow of Miss Wentworth's skirts, as if you were afraid?"
Mr. Franklyn, thus addressed, came forward, looking, however, as if he would rather not.
"You hear what this person says. And yet you tell me he has slandered Cyril Paxton as foully as he could."
Mr. Franklyn shot a glance at Mr. Ireland which was meant to be pregnant with meaning. He showed a disposition to hum and to ha.
"My dear Miss Strong, I'm sure you will find that Mr. Ireland is not unreasonable. His only desire is to do his duty."
Miss Strong stamped her foot upon the floor.
"His duty! to slander a gentleman in whose presence he is not worthy to stand! Because a man calls himself a policeman, and by doubtful methods contrives to earn the money with which to keep himself alive, is such an one entitled to fling mud at men of stainless honour and untarnished reputation, and then to excuse himself by pretending that flinging mud is his duty? If you, Mr. Franklyn, are afraid of a policeman, merely because he's a policeman, I assure you I am not. And I take leave to tell Mr. Ireland that there are policemen who are, at least, as much in want of being kept in order as any member of the criminal classes by any possibility could be."
Ireland eyed the eloquent lady as if he were half-puzzled, half-amused.
"I understand your feelings, madam, and I admire your pluck in standing up for Mr. Paxton."