In a twinkling he was on Flixton’s track. Broad Street, the heart of Bristol, was thronged, for Hart Davies’s withdrawal was in the air and an election crowd was abroad. Newsboys with their sheets, tipsy ward-leaders, and gossiping merchants jostled one another. The beau’s green coat, however, shone conspicuous, _Glorious was his course_, _And long the track of light he left behind him!_ and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in following, pursued and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, by way of the Welsh Back—a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes—for Queen’s Square. Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no longer. For a cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better than to master a silly fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on with a grim face; but a dray loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew across his path, and Flixton was pacing under the pleasant elms and amid the groups that loitered up and down the sunlit Square, before Vaughan came within hail, and called him by name. Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned—nothing abashed. “Well,” he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, “well, old chap! Are you let out of school too?” Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under the trees in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile—and did so, a little awry. “This is not fair play, Flixton,” he said. “That is just what I think it is,” the Honourable Bob answered cheerfully. “Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But no go, I found you out and now it is my turn. That’s what I call fair play.” “Look here, Flixton,” Vaughan replied—he was fast losing his composure—“I’m not going to have it. That’s plain.” The Honourable Bob stared. “Oh!” he answered. “Let’s understand one another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?” “I’ve told you——” “Oh, you’ve told me, yes, and you’ve told me, no. The question is, which is it?” Vaughan controlled himself. He could see Mary out of the corner of his eye, and knew that she had not yet taken the alarm. But the least violence might attract her attention. “Whichever it be,” he said firmly, “is no business of yours.” “If you claim the girl——” “I do not claim her, Flixton. I have told you that. But——” “But you mean to play the dog in the manger?” “I mean to see,” Vaughan replied sternly, “that you don’t do her any harm.”