"Just what I say. You have taken to peep and pry after me—whether set on by any one, or from some worthy motive of your own, you best know. It will not serve you, Philip King. If there be one thing more detestable than another, it is that of spying. I happened to mention this new pastime of yours before Mr. Heneage, and he observed that he had a cane somewhere. That's all." The intense aggravation with which she said it was enough to rouse the ire of one less excitable than Philip King. He was breaking out in abuse of Mr. Heneage, when the latter happened to come in. A few menacing words, a dark look or two from either side, and then came the quarrel. A quarrel that terrified me. I ran out of the room; I ran back again; I don't know what I did. Mrs. Edwin Barley seemed nearly as excited as they were: it was not the first time I had seen her in a passion. She called out (taking the words from the old ballad, "Lord Thomas"), that she cared more for the little finger of George Heneage than for the whole body of ill-conditioned Philip King. I knew it was only one of her wild sayings: when in a passion she did not mind what she said, or whom she offended. I knew that this present quarrel was altogether Selina's fault—that her love of provocation had brought it on. Mr. Edwin Barley had gone over to his brother's; and it was well, perhaps, that it was so. Jemima appeared on the stairs, carrying up a pail—there was no back staircase to the house. "What is the matter, Miss Hereford?" she asked. "Goodness me! how you are trembling!" "They are quarrelling in there—Mr. Heneage and Mr. King. I am afraid they will fight." "Oh, it has come to that, has it?" said Jemima, carelessly. "I thought it would. Never mind them, Miss Hereford; they'll not hurt you." She tripped upstairs with the pail, as if a quarrel were the most natural event in the world, and I looked into the room again. Mr. Heneage held Philip King by the collar of the coat. "Mark me!" he was saying; "if I catch you dodging my movements again, if I hear of your being insolent to this lady, I'll shoot you with as little compunction as I would a partridge. There!" "What is Mrs. Edwin Barley to you, that you should interfere?" retorted Philip King, his voice raised to a shriek. "And she! Why does she set herself to provoke me every hour of my life?" "I interfere of right: by my long friendship with her, and by the respect I bear for her mother's memory. Now you know." Mr. Heneage gave a shake to the collar as he spoke, and I ran up to my room, there to sob out my fit of terror. My heart was beating, my breath catching itself in gasps. In my own peaceful home I had never seen or heard the faintest shadow of a quarrel.