"That for the Chancellor!"
She actually snapped her fingers in his face. He seemed to be speechless; though, perhaps, he only seemed so. When he did speak, it was as if he were suffering positive pain.
"I find myself unable to believe that you are capable of realising the position in which I stand, the position in which you stand, too. Personal misusage I might endure. But, in this matter, I am impersonal. Take care! I represent, in my poor person, the majesty of English law."
He turned as if to go. If he supposed that he had crushed her, he was very much mistaken.
"Is that your last word, Sir Tristram?"
"Miss Cullen, it is my last."
"Then, now, be so good as to listen to my last word. The Duke of Datchet is a magistrate. I will go straight to him, and demand from him a warrant for your arrest."
"A warrant, for my arrest? Girl!"
"I presume that it is because I am a girl, that you are enough of a man, first to assault, and then to bully me."
Taking out his handkerchief, Sir Tristram applied it to his brow.