Face to Face.
“I’d much like to know what your business is ’ere?” demanded the coarse-featured fellow, whose grey bowler hat and gaiters gave him a distinctly horsey appearance. And as he stood in the doorway, he folded his arms defiantly and looked me straight in the face.
“My business is my own affair,” I answered, facing him in disgust.
“If it concerns my wife, I have a right to know,” he persisted.
“Your wife!” I cried, advancing towards him, with difficulty repressing the strong impulse within me to knock the young ruffian down. “Don’t call her your wife, fellow! Call her by her true name—your victim!”
“Do you mean that as an insult?” he exclaimed quickly, his face turning white with sudden anger, whereupon Mabel, seeing his threatening attitude, sprang between us and begged me to be calm.
“There are some men whom no words can insult,” I replied forcibly. “And you are one of them.”
“What do you mean?” he cried. “Do you wish to pick a quarrel?” and he came forward with clenched fists.
“I desire no quarrel,” was my quick response. “I only order you to leave this lady in peace. She may be legally your wife, but I will stand as her protector.”
“Oh!” he sneered, with curling lip. “And I’d like to know by what right you interfere between us?”