Vallancey and Blake were speechless in astonishment; Trenchard livid
with fury. Westmacott moved a step or two forward, a swagger
unmistakable in his gait, his nether-lip thrust out in a sneer.

"Why," said he, his voice mighty disdainful, "if Mr. Wilding apologizes,
the matter hardly can go further." He conveyed such a suggestion of
regret at this that Trenchard bounded forward, stung to speech.

"But if Mr. Westmacott's disappointment threatens to overwhelm him,"
he snapped, very tartly, "I am his humble servant, and he may call
upon me to see that he's not robbed of the exercise he came to take."

Mr. Wilding set a restraining hand upon Trenchard's arm.

Westmacott turned to him, the sneer, however, gone from his face.

"I have no quarrel with you, sir," said he, with an uneasy assumption
of dignity.

"It's a want that may be soon supplied," answered Trenchard briskly,
and, as he afterwards confessed, had not Wilding checked him at that
moment, he had thrown his hat in Richard's face.

It was Vallancey who saved the situation, cursing in his heart the
bearing of his principal.

"Mr. Wilding," said he, "this is very handsome in you. You are of the
happy few who may tender such an apology without reflection upon your
courage."