"Will you indeed?" Eustace shook him to and fro as he stood, but still without violence. "And how?"
"I shall tell her," Scott spoke without the smallest hesitation, "the exact truth. I shall tell her--and she will believe me--precisely what you are."
"Damn you!" said Sir Eustace.
With the words he shifted his grasp, took Scott by the collar, and swung him round.
"Then you may also tell her," he said, his voice low and furious, "that you have had the kicking that a little yapping cur like you deserves."
He kicked him with the words, kicked him thrice, and flung him brutally aside.
Scott went down, grabbing vainly at the bed to save himself. His face was deathly as he turned it, but he said nothing. He had said his say.
Sir Eustace was white also, white and terrible, with eyes of flame. He stood a moment, glaring down at him. Then, as though he could not trust himself, wheeled and strode to the door.
"And when you've done," he said, "you can come to me for another, you beastly little cad!"
He went, leaving the door wide behind him. His feet resounded along the passage and died away. The distant waltz-music came softly in. And Scott pulled himself painfully up and sat on the end of the bed, panting heavily.
Minutes passed ere he moved. Then at last very slowly he got up. He had recovered his breath. His mouth was firm, his eyes resolute and indomitable, his whole bearing composed, as with that dignity that Dinah had so often remarked in him he limped to the door and passed out, closing it quietly behind him.
The dance-music was still floating through the passages with a mocking allurement. The tramp of feet and laughter of many voices rose with it. A flicker of irony passed over his drawn face. He straightened his collar with absolute steadiness, and moved away in the direction of his own room.