Now, it so happened that to reach the street, Mr. Tawnish must pass close beside him, and noting this, Sir Harry very evidently placed himself full in the way, so that Mr. Tawnish was obliged to step aside to avoid a collision; yet even then, Raikes thrust out an elbow in such a fashion as to jostle him very unceremoniously. Never have I seen an insult more wanton and altogether unprovoked, and we all of us, I think, ceased to breathe, waiting for the inevitable to follow.
Mr. Tawnish stopped and turned. I saw his delicate brows twitch suddenly together, and for a moment his chin seemed more than usually prominent--then all at once he smiled--positively smiled, and shrugged his shoulders with his languid air.
"Sir," says he, with a flash of his white teeth, "it seems they make these rooms uncommon small and narrow, for the likes of you and me--your pardon." And so, with a tap, tap, of his high, red-heeled shoes, he crossed to the door, descended the steps, turned up the street, and was gone.
"He--he begged the fellow's pardon!" spluttered Jack, purple in the face.
"A more disgraceful exhibition was never seen," says I, "the fellow's a rank coward!" As for Bentley, he only fumbled with his wine-glass and grunted.
The departure of Mr. Tawnish had been the signal for a great burst of laughter from the others, in the middle of which Sir Harry strolled up to our table, nodding in the insolent manner peculiar to him.
"They tell me," said he, leering round upon us, "they tell me your pretty Penelope takes something more than a common interest in yonder fop; have a care, Sir John, she's a plaguey skittish filly by the looks of her, have a care, or like as not--"
But here his voice was drowned by the noise of our three chairs, as we rose.
"Sir Harry Raikes," says I, being the first afoot, "be you drunk or no, I must ask you to be a little less personal in your remarks--d'ye take me?"
"What?" cries Raikes, stepping up to me, "do you take it upon yourself to teach me a lesson in manners?"
"Aye," says Bentley, edging his vast bulk between us, "a hard task, Sir Harry, but you be in sad need of one."
"By God!" cries Raikes, clapping his hand to his small-sword, "is it a quarrel you are after? I say again that the wench--"