"It is as much a parochial matter," losing all hold on his
wits and stammering, "as was--as was--the affair of--your wife."
It was the Duke who stood up now, scarlet with anger. He sprang from
his chair as if he had been a young man in whom some insult had struck
blazing fire.
"You--you dare!" he shouted. "You insolent blackguard! You force your
way in here and dare--dare----!" And he clenched his fist, wildly
shaking it.
Nigel Anstruthers, staggering on his uncertain feet, would have shouted
also, but could not, though he tried, and he heard his own voice come
forth brokenly.
"Yes, I dare! I--your--my own--my----!"
Swaying and tottering, he swung round to the chair he had left, and fell
into it, even while the old Duke, who stood raging before him, started
back in outraged amazement. What was the fellow doing? Was he making
faces at him? The drawn malignant mouth and muscles suggested it. Was
he a lunatic, indeed? But the sense of disgusted outrage changed all at
once to horror, as, with a countenance still more hideously livid and
twisted, his visitor slid helplessly from his seat and lay a huddling
heap of clothes on the floor.
CHAPTER L
THE PRIMEVAL THING
When Mr.
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