"Of course you're in love," went on Olivant, still holding that little hand tightly, and glancing from one to the other across the table. "I wonder what she's like; I wonder what sort of beauty would most attract you. Come, Dawkins, let's have your opinion."
"Oh, my dear Olivant, don't ask me!" exclaimed Dawkins protestingly, and smiling more than ever. "Perhaps, if I might hazard a guess——" He glanced as he spoke at Barbara next to him.
"I think Arnold would take rather to a full-blown sort of beauty—something big and high-coloured," broke in Murray Olivant. "He'd be a bit of an amateur at the game—and I doubt if she'd have any money."
"Let go my hand!" It was the merest whisper, but I heard it as I stood behind Olivant; I saw the girl's distressed face, and I saw, too, that the boy's hand had gripped a knife beside him, and that his look was absolutely murderous. Olivant bent towards the girl as though he did not understand; looked down at the hand he held, and laughed.
"But it's such a pretty hand," he said—"belonging to a pretty Barbara. Tell me, Dawkins," he called to the other man, "hasn't one a right to hold a lady's hand if one likes?"
"Oh, surely, surely," said Mr. Dawkins. "Most certainly."
Even as the words were spoken Barbara wrenched her hand away, and sprang up; it seemed as though Olivant and the boy sprang to their feet at the same time. Barbara went quickly to her father, and whispered him for a moment, while he feebly protested; then she made towards the door. The boy sprang to the door to open it; Olivant moved quickly round the table to intercept them both.
"Here, come back, come back! What the devil——"
The door was opened, and the girl was gone; in the tense silence that had fallen upon the room I heard distinctly what Arnold Millard said, as he stood with his back to the door looking at Olivant.
"Go and sit down!" Then, as the other man still stood blusteringly before him, he made a sudden movement, and I heard the words again: "Go and sit down!"