Brandon’s fists clenched and re-opened convulsively.
“Yvette!” He almost choked. “You are not going away?—not going to leave me here—a laughing-stock——”
“Mr. Ronald Brandon!” O’Hagan placed his arm protectingly about mademoiselle’s shoulders and stared through the monocle at the novelist’s pale face. “I do not approve of this lady’s being in your company!”
Brandon fell back (O’Hagan’s divine audacity can strike as a physical blow) into the arms of Mr. Dewson.
“Stick to your part!” hissed the latter in his ear; and held him firmly. “This is a treat! All the restaurant heard what he said! Heard your name, too!”
“Curse you! Let go!”
The veins swelled upon Brandon’s forehead; his eyes protruded.
Captain O’Hagan, serenely:
“Come, mademoiselle! This vulgar brawler is no fit companion for us!”
Half the guests were upon their feet now. Someone had gone for the manager. The horror-frozen head-waiter met the Gorgon gaze which hypnotically sought him through the pebble. He turned and swung wide the door.