All she saw was the two men facing one another--one flurried, vicious, and noisy; the other curious, silent, disgusted.
"You dog!" hissed Ratman, with an oath, "what do you mean by that?"
"My meaning should have been clear--it was intended to be."
Ratman tried hard to copy his adversary's composure, but failed miserably.
With many imprecations, and, heedless of the tutor's maimed condition, he threw himself upon him.
But Robert Ratman's boxing, like his running, was a trifle out of date, and once more he found himself on his back regarding the clouds as they flitted by overhead.
This time the tutor assumed the initiative.
"Get up," said he, advancing to his prostrate antagonist.
Ratman was surprised at himself when, after a moment's doubt, he obeyed.
"What's your name?" demanded Mr Armstrong, surveying him from head to foot.
Again, by some curious mental process, Mr Ratman obeyed.
"I am Captain Oliphant's guest," growled Ratman.
The tutor looked him up and down in a manner which was clearly not calculated to imply admiration of Captain Oliphant's choice of friends.
"Allow me to tell you, sir, that in this part of the world we call men like you blackguards."
And the tutor, whose eye-glass had become uncomfortably deranged during this brief interview, screwed it in with a wrench, and turned on his heel.
"Where's jolly old Ratman?" inquired Tom, when the family presently assembled for breakfast.
"Tired with his journey, no doubt," said Mrs Ingleton.
As no one disputed this theory, and Jill's exchange of glances with her champion passed unheeded, there seemed every prospect of the meal passing off peaceably. But Tom, as usual, contrived to improve the occasion in the wrong direction.
"You'll like him, Armstrong, when you see him. He's no end of a chap-- all larks. He'll make you roar with his rummy stories."
"I have met him already," said the tutor shortly.
"Then he is up. Jill, my child," said the captain, "go and knock at Mr Ratman's door, and tell him breakfast is ready."
"I won't go near him," said Jill, flushing up. "He's a horrid, hateful man. Isn't he, Mr Armstrong?"
Mr Armstrong, thus appealed to, looked a little uncomfortable, and nodded.
"Yes," blurted the girl; "and if it hadn't been for Mr Armstrong, father, he might have hurt me very much."