_Hypatia, with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, slips noiselessly into the swing chair, and watches Percival and Gunner, swinging slightly, but otherwise motionless._ PERCIVAL. I hope it is not necessary for me to assure you all that there is not one word of truth--not one grain of substance--in this rascally calumny, which no man with a spark of decent feeling would have uttered even if he had been ignorant enough to believe it. Miss Tarleton's conduct, since I have had the honor of knowing her, has been, I need hardly say, in every respect beyond reproach. _[To Gunner]_ As for you, sir, youll have the goodness to come out with me immediately. I have some business with you which cant be settled in Mrs Tarleton's presence or in her house. GUNNER. _[painfully frightened]_ Why should I go out with you? PERCIVAL. Because I intend that you shall. GUNNER. I wont be bullied by you. _[Percival makes a threatening step towards him]._ Police! _[He tries to bolt; but Percival seizes him]._ Leave me go, will you? What right have you to lay hands on me? TARLETON. Let him run for it, Mr Percival. Hes very poor company. We shall be well rid of him. Let him go. PERCIVAL. Not until he has taken back and made the fullest apology for the abominable lie he has told. He shall do that or he shall defend himself as best he can against the most thorough thrashing I'm capable of giving him. _[Releasing Gunner, but facing him ominously]_ Take your choice. Which is it to be? GUNNER. Give me a fair chance. Go and stick at a desk from nine to six for a month, and let me have your grub and your sport and your lessons in boxing, and I'll fight you fast enough. You know I'm no good or you darent bully me like this. PERCIVAL. You should have thought of that before you attacked a lady with a dastardly slander. I'm waiting for your decision. I'm rather in a hurry, please. GUNNER. I never said anything against the lady. MRS TARLETON. | Oh, listen to that! | BENTLEY. | What a liar! | HYPATIA. | Oh! | TARLETON. | Oh, come! PERCIVAL. We'll have it in writing, if you dont mind. _[Pointing to the writing table]_ Sit down; and take that pen in your hand. _[Gunner looks irresolutely a little way round; then obeys]._ Now write. "I," whatever your name is-- GUNNER _[after a vain attempt]_ I cant. My hand's shaking too much. You see it's no use. I'm doing my best. I cant. PERCIVAL. Mr Summerhays will write it: you can sign it. BENTLEY. _[insolently to Gunner]_ Get up. _[Gunner obeys; and Bentley, shouldering him aside towards Percival, takes his place and prepares to write]._ PERCIVAL. Whats your name? GUNNER. John Brown. TARLETON. Oh come! Couldnt you make it Horace Smith? or Algernon Robinson? GUNNER. _[agitatedly]_ But my name is John Brown. There are really John Browns. How can I help it if my name's a common one?