Still Cairn did not move, did not speak.
"You have acted very harshly towards me in the past, dear Cairn; but because my philosophy consists in an admirable blending of that practised in Sybaris with that advocated by the excellent Zeno; because whilst I am prepared to make my home in a Diogenes' tub, I, nevertheless, can enjoy the fragrance of a rose, the flavour of a peach—"
The husky voice seemed to be hypnotising Cairn; it was a siren's voice, thralling him.
"Because," continued Ferrara evenly, "in common with all humanity I am compound of man and woman, I can resent the enmity which drives me from shore to shore, but being myself a connoisseur of the red lips and laughing eyes of maidenhood—I am thinking, more particularly of Myra—I can forgive you, dear Cairn—"
Then Cairn recovered himself.
"You white-faced cur!" he snarled through clenched teeth; his knuckles whitened as he stepped around the case. "You dare to stand there mocking me—"
Ferrara again placed the case between himself and his enemy.
"Pause, my dear Cairn," he said, without emotion. "What would you do? Be discreet, dear Cairn; reflect that I have only to call an attendant in order to have you pitched ignominiously into the street."
"Before God! I will throttle the life from you!" said Cairn, in a voice savagely hoarse.
He sprang again towards Ferrara. Again the latter dodged around the case with an agility which defied the heavier man.