"Have you been to the Grove since?" said Drummle.

"No," said I, "I had quite enough of the Finches the last time I was

there."

"Was that when we had a difference of opinion?"

"Yes," I replied, very shortly.

"Come, come! They let you off easily enough," sneered Drummle. "You

shouldn't have lost your temper."

"Mr. Drummle," said I, "you are not competent to give advice on that

subject. When I lose my temper (not that I admit having done so on that

occasion), I don't throw glasses."

"I do," said Drummle.

After glancing at him once or twice, in an increased state of

smouldering ferocity, I said,-"Mr. Drummle, I did not seek this conversation, and I don't think it an

agreeable one."

"I am sure it's not," said he, superciliously over his shoulder; "I

don't think anything about it."

"And therefore," I went on, "with your leave, I will suggest that we

hold no kind of communication in future."

"Quite my opinion," said Drummle, "and what I should have suggested

myself, or done--more likely--without suggesting. But don't lose your

temper. Haven't you lost enough without that?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Waiter!" said Drummle, by way of answering me.

The waiter reappeared.

"Look here, you sir. You quite understand that the young lady don't ride

to-day, and that I dine at the young lady's?"

"Quite so, sir!"

When the waiter had felt my fast-cooling teapot with the palm of his

hand, and had looked imploringly at me, and had gone out, Drummle,

careful not to move the shoulder next me, took a cigar from his pocket

and bit the end off, but showed no sign of stirring. Choking and

boiling as I was, I felt that we could not go a word further, without

introducing Estella's name, which I could not endure to hear him utter;

and therefore I looked stonily at the opposite wall, as if there were

no one present, and forced myself to silence. How long we might have

remained in this ridiculous position it is impossible to say, but

for the incursion of three thriving farmers--laid on by the waiter, I

think--who came into the coffee-room unbuttoning their great-coats and

rubbing their hands, and before whom, as they charged at the fire, we

were obliged to give way.

I saw him through the window, seizing his horse's mane, and mounting in

his blundering brutal manner, and sidling and backing away. I thought

he was gone, when he came back, calling for a light for the cigar in his

mouth, which he had forgotten. A man in a dust-colored dress appeared

with what was wanted,--I could not have said from where: whether from

the inn yard, or the street, or where not,--and as Drummle leaned down

from the saddle and lighted his cigar and laughed, with a jerk of his

head towards the coffee-room windows, the slouching shoulders and ragged

hair of this man whose back was towards me reminded me of Orlick.




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