“‘Who’s that?’
“‘Mr. Malory!’
“‘This is a bad hour for you, sir,’ said Westmacott to me.
“I knew that I must not quarrel with him.
“‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I had no intention of spying on you and was only doing my ordinary work in here. I will go if you, Ruth, wish me to go.’
“‘No,’ said Westmacott, ‘go, and tell them all I’m here? Not much. You’ve heard enough now to know I want Ruth. You’ve always known it. I’ve always wanted her, and I mean to have her. Who are you, you fine gentleman, that you should stand in my way? I could crush your windpipe with my finger and thumb.’”
I pictured that grotesque scene in that dark, smelly shed, among the ruminating cattle, and those two antagonistic men with the girl between them.
“I turned to Ruth,” said Malory, “and asked her frigidly what she wanted me to do? Should I attack the fellow? or give the alarm? or was it by her consent that he was there? Again she did not speak and he answered for her.
“‘I’m here by her consent, she’s had a note from me, and she answered it, and here she is. Isn’t it true?’ he demanded of her.
“‘It is quite true,’ she said, speaking to me.