d, feeling all at once at ease. He could take care of
himself in an argument with Lambert Planter. No such distances separated
them as had widened beyond measure a little while back between him and
Sylvia. He wondered if that conception sprang from Lambert, or if it
came simply from the fact that they were two men, facing each other
alone; for it was from the first patent that Sylvia had asked her
brother to complete a punishment she had devised as fitting, but which
she had been incapable of carrying out herself. Lambert, indeed, brought
his hands forward, disclosing a whip. It was a trifle in his way as he
took off his coat.

"That's right," George said. "Make yourself comfortable."

"You won't help matters by being impertinent, Morton."

Lambert's voice contrasted broadly with George's round, loud tones.
While, perhaps, not consciously affected, its accents fell according to
the custom of the head master of a small and particular preparatory
school. George crushed his instinct to mock. What the deuce had he
craved ever since his encounter with Sylvia unless it was to be one with
men like Lambert Planter? So all he said was:

"What's the whip for?"

"You know perfectly well," Lambert answered. "There's no possible excuse
for what you said and did this afternoon. I am going to impress that on
you."

"You mean you want a fight?"

"By no means. I wouldn't feel comfortable fighting a man like you. I'd
never dreamed we had such a rotten person on the place. Oh, no, Morton.
I'm going to give you a good horse-whipping."

George's chin went out. His momentary good-humour fled.

"If you touch me with that whip I'm likely to kill you."

Without hesitating Lambert raised the whip. George sprang and got his
hands on it, intent only on avoiding a blow that would have carried the
same unbearable sting as Sylvia's riding crop. Such tactics took Lambert
by surprise. George's two hands against his one on the stock were
victorious. The whip flew to one side. Lambert, flushing angrily,
started after it. George barred his path, raising his fists.

"You don't touch that thing again."

Lambert's indecision, his hands hanging at his sides, hurt George nearly
as much as the lashing would have done. He had to destroy that attitude
of sheer superiority.

"I'm not sure you're a man," he said, thickly, "but you tried to hit me,
so you can put your pretty hands up or take it in the face."

He aimed a vicious blow. Lambert side-st