“By George, I’ll break his neck!” he foamed, stamping his foot on the floor.
“Now, Richard, keep cool,” said Harrington. “You can depend that Fernando has been making mischief all round, and let us just track it out. In the first place, let’s hear Johnny’s report of what he said.”
“Lord! I can’t tell you! it’s gone from me,” fumed Wentworth, running his hands through his curls, as if in search of it. “Let’s see. In the first place, he had some snob criticisms on your coat; which, he thinks, is not genteel enough to entitle you to Muriel’s friendship.”
“Oh, indeed,” said Harrington, with grand good-nature. “Well, that’s a trifle, anyway.”
“He said,” continued Wentworth, “that you looked like a beggarman, who had been in the watch-house all night.”
“Complimentary,” jeered Harrington.
“Wondered how you had the assurance to visit Miss Eastman at all, when your social position was so much beneath hers,” pursued Wentworth; “and thought it was very kind in her to permit you.”
Harrington burst into a peal of hearty laughter.
“Positively,” he said, “this is comic. The only tragic thing about it is, that all this time, Fernando has been pretending that he was the best of friends to me.”