“Let me pass,” said Miss Mergle, in towering indignation. “How dare you resist my passage?” and so swept by him and into the dining-room, wherein Jessie had sought refuge. As Mr. Hoopdriver struggled for equilibrium with the umbrella-stand, Dangle and Phipps, roused from their inertia by Miss Mergle’s activity, came in upon her heels, Phipps leading. “How dare you prevent that lady passing?” said Phipps. Mr. Hoopdriver looked obstinate, and, to Dangle’s sense, dangerous, but he made no answer. A waiter in full bloom appeared at the end of the passage, guardant. “It is men of your stamp, sir,” said Phipps, “who discredit manhood.” Mr. Hoopdriver thrust his hands into his pockets. “Who the juice are you?” shouted Mr. Hoopdriver, fiercely. “Who are _you_, sir?” retorted Phipps. “Who are you? That’s the question. What are _you_, and what are you doing, wandering at large with a young lady under age?” “Don’t speak to him,” said Dangle. “I’m not a-going to tell all my secrets to any one who comes at me,” said Hoopdriver. “Not Likely.” And added fiercely, “And that I tell you, sir.” He and Phipps stood, legs apart and both looking exceedingly fierce at one another, and Heaven alone knows what might not have happened, if the long clergyman had not appeared in the doorway, heated but deliberate. “Petticoated anachronism,” said the long clergyman in the doorway, apparently still suffering from the antiquated prejudice that demanded a third wheel and a black coat from a clerical rider. He looked at Phipps and Hoopdriver for a moment, then extending his hand towards the latter, he waved it up and down three times, saying, “Tchak, tchak, tchak,” very deliberately as he did so. Then with a concluding “Ugh!” and a gesture of repugnance he passed on into the dining-room from which the voice of Miss Mergle was distinctly audible remarking that the weather was extremely hot even for the time of year. This expression of extreme disapprobation had a very demoralizing effect upon Hoopdriver, a demoralization that was immediately completed by the advent of the massive Widgery. “Is this the man?” said Widgery very grimly, and producing a special voice for the occasion from somewhere deep in his neck. “Don’t hurt him!” said Mrs. Milton, with clasped hands. “However much wrong he has done her—No violence!” “’Ow many more of you?” said Hoopdriver, at bay before the umbrella stand. “Where is she? What has he done with her?” said Mrs. Milton. “I’m not going to stand here and be insulted by a lot of strangers,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “So you needn’t think it.” “Please don’t worry, Mr. Hoopdriver,” said Jessie, suddenly appearing in the door of the dining-room. “I’m here, mother.” Her face was white. Mrs. Milton said something about her child, and made an emotional charge at Jessie. The embrace vanished into the dining-room. Widgery moved as if to follow, and hesitated. “You’d better make yourself scarce,” he said to Mr. Hoopdriver.