"Would you strike a woman, Ernest Wilson?" cried Mrs. Champney.

"See here, Smilk," said Mr. Yollop, "I cannot allow you to strike my
sister. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll thrash you
within an inch of your life."

"Oh, you will, will you?" sneered Mr. Smilk.

"If you want to go ahead and rob this apartment in a decent, orderly
way, all well and good. My sister and I will personally conduct you
through,--"

"We will do nothing of the kind," blazed Mrs. Champney.

"I'd like to see you try to thrash me within an inch--"

"And, what's more," went on the lady, "I will see that you go up for
twenty years, Ernest Wilson, you degraded, ungrateful wretch."

Smilk's face brightened. He even allowed himself a foxy grin.

"Now you're beginnin' to talk sense," said he.

"Sit down, Ernest, and let me talk quietly to you," said Mrs.
Champney. "I'm sure you don't quite realize what you are doing. You
need moral support. You are not naturally a bad man. You--"

"Are you goin' to take them rings off peaceably?" muttered Smilk, a
hunted look leaping into his eyes.