"You promised not to come in until that man had left——"
"I know it. I meant to—but, good God! Quarren! I can't stand there——"
He was struggling toward Sprowl and Quarren was trying to push him back into the hall.
"You said that you had given up any idea of personal vengeance!" he panted. "Let me deal with him quietly——"
"I didn't know what I was saying," retorted Ledwith, straining away from the man who held him, his eyes fixed on Sprowl. "I tell you I can't remain quiet and see that blackguard in this house——"
"But he's going I tell you! He's going without a row—without any noise. Can't you let me manage it——"
He could not drag Ledwith to the door, so he forced him into a chair and stood guard, glancing back across his shoulder at Sprowl.
"You'd better go," he said in a low but perfectly distinct voice.
Sprowl, still holding his cigar, sauntered forward into the drawing-room.