“Then learn, sir, to your confusion, that I am Henry Netterville!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the other. “I shall not retract a word I have said. I shall convince Mrs. Hartley that she ought to get rid of you.
“For what reason?” demanded Netterville. “Show cause why!”
“I propose to do so. But since you force me to speak, I will say you are acting a most dishonourable part. You profess love for Rose, when you are making love to another. You offer her your hand, when you are already engaged.”
“I engaged!” exclaimed Netterville. “This is news to me. To whom am I engaged, pray?”
“To Miss Clotilde Tripp, if I am rightly informed,” replied the accuser. “If not to her, to Miss Flora Sicklemore.”
“You must be confounding me with Tom Tankard,” said Netterville. “I never paid the young ladies in question the slightest attention. And now allow me to ask a question? Who are you, sir, who interest yourself so much in my concerns, and of whom I know nothing? I am not aware that I ever saw you before; but though you pretend ignorance, I strongly suspect that you know me very well. I believe you are the person who have been annoying Rose. I think you wrote the lying epistle to me, and the unmanly letters to her. You imposed upon me for a time, but I have now found you out. Accident has delivered you into my hands, and I don't mean to part with you. Rose is at home at this moment. Come with me and apologise to her, or I'll break every bone in your body!”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” replied Romney, for it was he.
“We'll see that!” cried Netterville.
And springing upon him suddenly, he caught him by the collar and dragged him towards the house, which was not very far off.