I cannot see that my movements are of so much importance to Dr. Howe,"
Dick answered, "and he certainly has never taken it upon himself to
meddle in my affairs to the extent of asking me about them."

"Nevertheless," said Gifford, with ominous gentleness, "he must
feel--surprise at your departure. That your business should take you away
at this time, Mr. Forsythe, is unfortunate."

"I know my business, at least," cried the other loudly, his voice
trembling with anger, "and I'm capable of attending to it without
suggestions from you! I'll trouble you to speak plainly, instead of
hinting. What right have you to question my leaving Ashurst?"

"No right," Gifford said calmly.

"Why don't you speak out like a man?" Forsythe demanded with a burst of
rage, striking the table with his fist. "What do you mean by your damned
impudence? So you dare to question my conduct to Lois Howe, do you?--you
confounded prig!"

"Be silent!" Gifford said between his teeth. "Gentlemen do not introduce
the name of a woman into their discussions. You forgot yourself. It is
unnecessary to pursue this subject. I have nothing more to say."

"But I have more to say. Who gave you the right to speak to me? The lady
herself? She must be indeed distressed to choose you for a messenger."

Gifford did not answer; for a moment the dark room was very still, except
for the beating rain and the tapping of the ivy at the south window.

"Or perhaps," he went on, a sneer curling his handsome mouth, "you will
comfort her yourself, instead? Well, you're welcome."

Gifford's hands clenched on the back of the chair in front of him. "Sir,"
he said, "this place protects you, and you know it."

But Dick Forsythe was beside himself with anger. He laughed insultingly.
"I'll not detain you any longer. Doubtless you will wish to go to the
rectory to-night. But I'm afraid, even though I'm obliging enough to
leave Ashurst, you will have no"--He did not finish his sentence. Gifford
Woodhouse's hand closed like a vise upon his collar. There were no words.
Dick's struggles were as useless as beating against a rock; his maddest
efforts could not shake off that relentless hand. Gifford half pushed,
half carried, him to the door, and in another moment Dick Forsythe found
himself flung like a snapping cur in the mud and rain of Mr. Denner's
garden.

He gathered himself up, and saw Gifford standing in the doorway, as
though to offer him a chance of revenge.

"Damn you!"