"A blow, sir?" stammered Mr. Winkle.
"A blow, sir," replied Dowler. "Compose your feelings. Sit down. Hear me."
"Sir," said Mr. Winkle, trembling from head to foot, "before I consent to sit down beside, or opposite you, without the presence of a waiter, I must be secured by some further understanding. You used a threat against me last night, sir, a dreadful threat, sir." Here Mr. Winkle turned very pale indeed, and stopped short.
"I did," said Dowler, with a countenance almost as white as Mr. Winkle's. "Circumstances were suspicious. They have been explained. I respect your bravery. Your feeling is upright. Conscious innocence. There's my hand. Grasp it."
"Really, sir," said Mr. Winkle, hesitating whether to give his hand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order that he might be taken at an advantage, "really, sir, I———"
"I know what you mean," interposed Dowler. "You feel aggrieved. Very natural. So should I. I was wrong. I beg your pardon. Be friendly. Forgive me." With this, Dowler fairly forced his hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it with the utmost vehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme spirit, and he had a higher opinion of him than ever.
"Now," said Dowler, "sit down. Relate it all. How did you find me? When did you follow? Be frank. Tell me."
"It's quite accidental," replied Mr. Winkle, greatly perplexed by the curious and unexpected nature of the interview, "Quite."
"Glad of it," said Dowler. "I woke this morning. I had forgotten my threat. I laughed at the accident. I felt friendly. I said so."
"To whom?" inquired Mr. Winkle.
"To Mrs. Dowler. You made a vow,' said she. 'I did,' said I. 'It was a rash one,' said she. It was,' said I. 'I'll apologise. Where is he?"
"Who?" inquired Mr. Winkle.
