Jimmie reached the spot, as a few of the nearer guests were beginning to take a surprised interest in the altercation. Morland came forward from behind the duchess's chair and cast a swift glance at Jimmie.
“If you don't go, I shall make you,” said the servant, preparing to execute his threat. The man looked dangerous.
“I must see Mr. David Rendell,” he cried, beginning to struggle.
Jimmie drew the servant away.
“I know this gentleman,” he said quietly. “Mr. Stone, Mr. Rendell is not here, but if you will come with me, I will listen to you, and tell him anything you have to say.”
Mr. Hardacre, who had seen the scuffle from a distance, came up in a fluster.
“What's all this? What's all this? Who is this creature? Please go away.” He began to hustle the man.
“Stop! He's an acquaintance of Padgate's,” said Morland, huskily.
There was a short pause. Stone stared around at the well-dressed men and women, at the seated figures of the princess and the duchess, at the servant who had picked up the tray, at the band who were still playing the “Wedding March” from “Lohengrin,” at the red-faced, little, blustering man, at the beautiful cool setting of green, and the look in his eyes was that of one who saw none of these things. Morland edged to Jimmie's side.
“For God's sake, get him away,” he said in a low voice.