He met Scott’s look with eyes of smouldering wrath.  There was more than warning in his hold; it conveyed menace.

Yet Scott, very pale, supremely dignified, made no motion to retreat.  “You have not answered me yet,” he said.  “I must have an answer.”

Sir Eustace’s brows met in a thick and threatening line.  “You will have very much more than you bargain for if you persist,” he said.

“Meaning that I am to draw my own conclusions?” Scott asked, unmoved.

The smouldering fire suddenly blazed into flame.  He pulled Scott to him with the movement of a giant, and bent him irresistibly downwards.  “I will show you what I mean,” he said.

Scott made a swift, instinctive effort to free himself, but the next instant he was passive.  Only as the relentless hands forced him lower he spoke, his voice quick and breathless.

“You can hammer me to your heart’s content, but you’ll get nothing out of it.  That sort of thing simply doesn’t count—­with me.”

Sir Eustace held him in a vice-like grip.  “Are you going to take it lying down then?” he questioned grimly.

“I’m not going to fight you certainly.”  Scott’s voice had a faint quiver of humour in it, as though he jested at his own expense.  “Not—­that is—­in a physical sense.  If you choose to resort to brute force, that’s your affair.  And I fancy you’ll be sorry afterwards.  But it will make no actual difference to me.”  He broke off, breathing short and hard, like a man who struggles against odds yet with no thought of yielding.

Sir Eustace held him a few seconds as if irresolute, then abruptly let him go.  “I believe you’re right,” he said.  “You wouldn’t care a damn.  But you’re a fool to bait me all the same.  Now clear out, and leave me alone for the future!”

“I haven’t done with you yet,” Scott said.  He straightened himself, and returned indomitably to the attack.  “I asked you a question, and—­so far—­you haven’t answered it.  Are you ashamed to answer it?”

Sir Eustace got up with a movement of exasperation, but very oddly his anger had died down.  “Oh, confound you, Stumpy!  You’re worse than a swarm of mosquitoes!” he said.  “I dispute your right to ask that question.  It is no affair of yours.”

“I maintain that it is,” Scott said quietly.  “It matters to me—­perhaps more than you realize—­whether you behave honourably or otherwise.”

“Honourably!” His brother caught him up sharply.  “You’re on dangerous ground, I warn you,” he said.  “I won’t stand that from you or any man.”

“I’ve no intention of insulting you,” Scott answered.  “But I must know the truth.  Are you hoping to marry Miss Bathurst, or are you not?”

Sir Eustace drew himself up with a haughty gesture.  “The time has not come to talk of that,” he said.

“Not when you are deliberately making love to her?” Scott’s voice remained quiet, but the glitter was in his eyes again—­a quivering, ominous gleam.