“I suppose you are responsible,” he added. “Miss Wynne might have better
manners, and her nephew more courage. However, I have said what ought to
be enough with English gentlemen. Good-evening.”
“I have half a mind to give thee a good honest thrashing,” said I.
“I dare say. You are big enough, Master Quaker; but I presume that about
the weapons common among men of honour you know as much as I know of
making horseshoes.”
I was now cool enough and angry enough to have killed him. “Thy friend
can find me here,” said I. “I trust I shall be able to satisfy thee.”
With this he went away, and I stood looking after his stumpy figure. I
was again in a broil, not of my making; just a bit of ill luck, for here
was a nice business. I went in, and was caught on my way upstairs by my
Aunt Gainor, who called me into the sitting-room.
Still too furious to be prudent, she broke out before Darthea. “Insolent
idiots! I hope I made Mr. Galloway understand, and the rest of them too!
I trust Bessy Ferguson will never darken my doors again!” She walked up
and down, and at last upset a big mandarin, who came head down on the
hearth.
“I wish he were Mr. Gage!” said my aunt, contemplating the fragments.
“I dare say he was a Tory,” says Darthea, who feared no one. “And I am a
Tory too, Miss Wynne, I would have you to know.”
“I dare say,” said my aunt; “it doesn’t matter much, what you think, or
what you are. You had some words with that stupid man, sir; I saw you.
He looked as if he did not like it. Oh, I heard you, too.”