“Wait,” said he, losing his temper, “the dance is not over.”
She stepped quickly to a chair, and sat there at bay.
“Come back,” said he, following her, “or I will make you. I won’t be insulted like this before the whole room. Come back; do you hear?”
And he snatched her hand.
Rosalind looked up, and as she did so she caught a distant vision of an eye-glass dropping from a gentleman’s eye to the length of its cord. A moment after, Mr Ratman felt a hand close like a vice on his collar and himself almost lifted from the room. It was all done so quickly that the quadrille party were only just becoming aware that a couple had dropped out; and the non-dancers were beginning to wonder if Miss Oliphant had been taken poorly, when Robert Ratman was writhing in the clutches of his chastiser in the hall.
Mr Armstrong marched straight with his prey to the kitchen.
“Raffles,” said he to the footman, “get me a horsewhip.”
Raffles took in the situation at once, and in half a minute was across at the stable.
As he returned with the whip he met Mr Armstrong in the yard, holding his victim much as a cat would hold a rat, utterly indifferent to his oaths, his kicks, or his threats.
“Thanks,” said the tutor, as he took the whip; “go in and shut the door. Now, sir, for you!”