“No one would dare with the knowledge that we are engaged.”
“Wouldn’t they, just! Well, they just have—at least one has, the vile brute!”
“A member of this company kissed you against your will?”
“Of course.”
“Who?”
“You’d do nothing if I told you.”
“Who?” repeated Eliphalet, very white and calm.
“Harrington May.”
“Thank you. I shall know what to do, my dear. Your honour is quite safe with me; and mine—mine has been outraged.”
He threw open the door and closed it crisply behind him, leaving Blanche looking a little scared. She had not counted on producing the quality of dull anger his face had worn, but thought rather he would fly into a boy’s rage—caress her with a savage intensity and curse the man who had sought to steal her favours. Then she would have told him that the whole thing was a joke, devised to buck him up and make him amusing. Afterwards, they would have gone out and had a jolly good beano. But somehow his looks did not give encouragement for such a recital, and, moreover, she felt a stirring of admiration for the manner in which he had strode to confront his rival.