There was battle clamorous and a trifle undignified. They said the same things over and over again. Both had worked themselves into a fury.
"I forbid you to have anything to do with the fellow."
"You, Jaff Chayne, told me to mind my own business. Just you mind yours."
"It is my business," he shouted, "to see that you don't disgrace yourself with a beast of a fellow like that."
"What did you say? Disgrace myself?" She drew herself up magnificently. "Do you think I would disgrace myself with any man living? You insult me."
"Rot!" cried Jaffery. "Every woman's liable to make a blessed fool of herself—and you more than most."
"I know one that's not going to make a fool of herself," she taunted, and flung an arm in the direction of the house.
Jaffery blazed. "You leave me alone."
"And you leave me alone."
They glared inimically into each other's eyes. Liosha turned, marched superbly away, opened the garden door and, passing through, slammed it in his face. It had been a very pretty, primitive quarrel, free from all subtlety. Elemental instinct flamed in Jaffery's veins. If he could have given her a good sound thrashing he would have been a happy man. This accursed civilisation paralysed him. He stood for a few moments tearing at whiskers and beard. Then he started in pursuit, and overtook her in the middle of the lawn.