"Wait!"
"What!"
"Wait a moment. I like Dankmere, and he isn't a bounder——"
"He is one!"
"Keep that opinion to yourself," he said bluntly.
The old lady's eyes blazed. "I'm damned if I do!" she retorted—"I'll say what——"
"Not here! You mustn't be uncivil here. You know well enough how to behave when necessary; and if you don't do it I'll call your carriage."
For fully five minutes Mrs. Sprowl sat there attempting to digest what he had said. The process was awful to behold, but she accomplished it at last with a violent effort.
"Ricky," she said, "I didn't come here to quarrel with you over an Englishman who—of whom I—have my personal opinion."
He laughed, leaned over and deliberately patted her fat wrist; and she glared at him somewhat as a tigress inspects a favourite but overgrown and presuming cub.