No wonder, then, that he despaired.  No wonder, too, that there rose up in his breast a great anger and indignation against the man who had brought this last extremity of misery upon them.  He was just, and could make allowances for his rival’s infatuation—­which, indeed, Ida being concerned, it was not difficult for him to understand.  But he was also, and above all things, a gentleman; and the spectacle of a woman being inexorably driven into a distasteful marriage by money pressure, put on by the man who wished to gain her, revolted him beyond measure, and, though he was slow to wrath, moved him to fiery indignation.  So much did it move him that he took a resolution; Mr. Cossey should know his mind about the matter, and that at once.  Ringing the bell, he ordered his dog-cart, and drove to Edward Cossey’s rooms with the full intention of giving that gentleman a very unpleasant quarter-of-an-hour.

Mr. Cossey was in.  Fearing lest he should refuse to see him, the Colonel followed the servant up the stairs, and entered almost as she announced his name.  There was a grim and even a formidable look upon his plain but manly face, and something of menace, too, in his formal and soldierly bearing; nor did his aspect soften when his eyes fell upon the full-length picture of Ida over the mantelpiece.

Edward Cossey rose with astonishment and irritation, not unmixed with nervousness, depicted on his face.  The last person whom he wished to see and expected a visit from was Colonel Quaritch, whom in his heart he held in considerable awe.  Besides, he had of late received such a series of unpleasant calls that it is not wonderful that he began to dread these interviews.

“Good-day,” he said coldly.  “Will you be seated?”

The Colonel bowed his head slightly, but he did not sit down.

“To what am I indebted for the pleasure?” began Edward Cossey with much politeness.

“Last time I was here, Mr. Cossey,” said the Colonel in his deep voice, speaking very deliberately, “I came to give an explanation; now I come to ask one.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes.  To come to the point, Miss de la Molle and I are attached to each other, and there has been between us an understanding that this attachment might end in marriage.”

“Oh! has there?” said the younger man with a sneer.

“Yes,” answered the Colonel, keeping down his rising temper as well as he could.  “But now I am told, upon what appears to be good authority, that you have actually condescended to bring, directly and indirectly, pressure of a monetary sort to bear upon Miss de la Molle and her father in order to force her into a distasteful marriage with yourself.”

“And what the devil business of yours is it, sir,” asked Cossey, “what I have or have not done?  Making every allowance for the disappointment of an unsuccessful suitor, for I presume that you appear in that character,” and again he sneered, “I ask, what business is it of yours?”