'There are one or two things which I should like to say to you, but I am inclined to think that I had better not say them to you here. Nor do I quite see my way to ask you to come outside, though I should like to.' Mr Holland was savage, and unwise enough to show it. Mr Dumville, having polished his eyeglass, replaced it in his eye so that he might scan the speaker with a greater show of dignity. 'What on earth do you mean by talking to me like that? If that's the kind of remark you wish to make the sooner you get away the better.' 'I am quite of your opinion, Mr Dumville. I shall always remember with pleasure that I was able to get away from you.' Mr Dumville strode forward. 'You be hanged, sir!' 'After you, Mr Dumville, after you.' 'You had better be careful; although I don't want to have a vulgar row with you here.' 'Would you mind mentioning a place at which you would? I will try to make it convenient to be there.' Mr Dumville turned and rang the bell. 'What's that for?' 'For the servant to show you out.' Mr Holland laughed, showing himself out without another word. He was conscious of two things--that he had not been particularly discreet, and that he would like to make his indiscretion greater by 'taking it out' of somebody. It was not often his temper gained the upper hand; when it did he was apt to be dangerous both to himself and others. Nor was his mood chastened by a little incident which took place as he was about to descend the staircase. From a door which opened behind him Miss Bewicke addressed him in mellifluous accents. 'Oh, Mr Holland, will you give my fondest love to dear Miss Broad? It's true that I don't know her, but if you tell her what good friends you and I used to be I'm sure that she won't mind. I hope to make her acquaintance one of these days, and then I'll tell her how fond you and I were of one another. Good-night.' Before he had a chance to answer the door was closed. He went down the stairs in a rage. 'The little cat!' he muttered. 'The little cat! who would have thought she had such claws?' As he was going out into the street a woman, running against him, almost knocked him over. She was entering the house, apparently in hot, unseeing haste; putting up her hand as if to prevent his observation of her features; flying up the stairs as if danger was hard upon her heels. Mr Holland adjusted his hat, which she had knocked almost off without offering the least apology. 'I wonder what mischief you have been up to? Women are beauties, real beauties!' Having indulged himself in this very cheap piece of cynicism, he, metaphorically, shook the dust of the house from off his feet, but had not gone a dozen paces when he found himself face to face with his cousin, Horace Burton. CHAPTER V A WOMAN SCORNED