“You did that on purpose, you little rascal!” cried Charlie, seizing the boy’s rein. Azim Bey’s face became pale with rage.
“You dare, monsieur? You venture to say that I desired to hurt mademoiselle? Go, you are a pig, a serpent—I despise you! Go, I say!” and he lifted his riding-whip, which Charlie immediately grasped.
“Don’t try that sort of thing on with me, young one,” he cried. “You’d better not, or I may be tempted to give you a thrashing, which would do you a lot of good.”
“How, monsieur, you threaten me?” screamed Azim Bey. “I will remember it, I will remember it well! You and I will meet, and you also shall remember this. Go, dog of an Englishman!” with a vigorous tug at the whip, to which Charlie gave a wrench that broke it between them. Azim Bey flung the fragments in his face, with a torrent of curses.
“Egerton!” said Sir Dugald, stepping between them, “what is the meaning of this?”
“He has insulted me, monsieur,” cried Azim Bey, trembling with passion. Sir Dugald cast a scathing glance at Charlie.
“I am sure Dr Egerton is willing to apologise if he has inadvertently said anything to offend you, Bey,” he said. “Egerton, you must certainly see that there is no other course open to you. It is impossible that you could have intended to insult the Bey.”
“He shall apologise for it—in blood,” growled Azim Bey, ferociously, while Charlie stood silent, nettled by Sir Dugald’s authoritative tone. “He said I meant to hurt mademoiselle. The rest is for him and me to settle alone.”
“Oh, Charlie,” said Cecil, coming up with anxious eyes, “you did not mean that, I’m sure. You must have known that the Bey would never think of such a thing. You will apologise, won’t you? You really ought.”
“As you say I ought, I will,” said Charlie, turning from the whispered colloquy with a defiant glance at Azim Bey and Sir Dugald. “I regret, Bey, to have wounded your feelings by a hasty accusation which was not justified by facts. I can’t say more than that.”