Evidently Vance had not come to propose a treaty of peace, for there was the usual sneer upon his curling lip, and his sallow face was as ugly as usual in consequence. He strode up with a kind of careless insolence and without saying another word placed himself squarely in front of Mark and stared in his face.
“What is it?” inquired the latter quietly.
Vance answered nothing just long enough to make a rude silence; then he was satisfied to begin.
“Mr. Mallory,” said he, “I’ve something to say to you. I want to get it done in a hurry, too, because my reputation would be injured if I were seen talking to plebes.”
Vance was finely sarcastic as he said that.
Mark responded nothing, but some one behind him ventured a retort.
“Betcher life, b’gee!” observed that young person. “Some one might think you were learning a little decency.”
Vance started to answer to that, but Mark checked him.
“If you’ve got anything to say,” he commanded, sternly, “say it!”
And for some reason Merry thought it best to obey.