“Apparently not. All I want to say is, that I believe less in your gratitude than in your fear, and you can spare yourself the trouble of keeping up that farce.”
“I am not afraid of you,” said Jeffreys, drawing himself up. “Of my own conscience I am; and of the memory of poor young Forrester—”
“Hold your tongue. I have no wish to hear my friend’s name on your lips.”
Jeffreys turned to go.
“Look here,” said Scarfe, calling him back, “I want to say one word. I am sufficiently interested in Percy Rimbolt to dislike the influence you use upon him. Your influence upon young boys is not to be trusted, and I warn you to let Percy alone. You are doing him no good as it is.”
“Is that all you want to say?” said Jeffreys. “No. I have my own reason for choosing that you cease to offend Miss Atherton by your attentions. You are no fit companion for her; and she and I—”
Jeffreys turned on his heel, and did not hear the end of the sentence. He marvelled at himself that he had not struck the fellow contemptuously to the ground; and he absolutely smiled in the midst of his misery at the idea of Scarfe taking upon himself the moral upbringing of Percy and the protector-ship of Raby! In the midst of these reflections he became aware of the presence of Raby in the walk in front of him.
The rencontre was unexpected on both sides, and promised to be embarrassing for Jeffreys. Raby, however, came to the rescue.
“Mr Jeffreys,” said she, holding out her hand, “I do hope you are none the worse for yesterday. I was greatly afraid you would catch cold.”
“You took the kindest possible way of preventing it,” said Jeffreys. “I never enjoyed a meal as much as the one Walker brought me yesterday, and I thank the kind sender.”