“You seem amused, sir,” he said.
I was by no means amused.
“I suppose you are responsible,” he added. “Miss Wynne might have better manners, and her nephew more courage. However, I have said what ought to be enough with English gentlemen. Good-evening.”
“I have half a mind to give thee a good honest thrashing,” said I.
“I dare say. You are big enough, Master Quaker; but I presume that about the weapons common among men of honour you know as much as I know of making horseshoes.”
I was now cool enough and angry enough to have killed him. “Thy friend can find me here,” said I. “I trust I shall be able to satisfy thee.”
With this he went away, and I stood looking after his stumpy figure. I was again in a broil, not of my making; just a bit of ill luck, for here was a nice business. I went in, and was caught on my way upstairs by my Aunt Gainor, who called me into the sitting-room.
Still too furious to be prudent, she broke out before Darthea. “Insolent idiots! I hope I made Mr. Galloway understand, and the rest of them too! I trust Bessy Ferguson will never darken my doors again!” She walked up and down, and at last upset a big mandarin, who came head down on the hearth.
“I wish he were Mr. Gage!” said my aunt, contemplating the fragments.
“I dare say he was a Tory,” says Darthea, who feared no one. “And I am a Tory too, Miss Wynne, I would have you to know.”