RICHARD. I come, sir, on your own invitation. You left word you had something important to tell me.
ANDERSON. I have a warning which it is my duty to give you.
RICHARD. (_quickly rising_). You want to preach to me. Excuse me: I prefer a walk in the rain. (_He makes for his coat._)
ANDERSON. (_stopping him_). Don’t be alarmed, sir; I am no great preacher. You are quite safe. (_Richard smiles in spite of himself. His glance softens: he even makes a gesture of excuse. Anderson, seeing that he has tamed him, now addresses him earnestly._) Mr. Dudgeon: you are in danger in this town.
ANDERSON. Your uncle’s danger. Major Swindon’s gallows.
RICHARD. It is you who are in danger. I warned you—
ANDERSON. (_interrupting him goodhumoredly but authoritatively_). Yes, yes, Mr. Dudgeon; but they do not think so in the town. And even if I were in danger, I have duties here I must not forsake. But you are a free man. Why should you run any risk?
RICHARD. Do you think I should be any great loss, Minister?
ANDERSON. I think that a man’s life is worth saving, whoever it belongs to. (_Richard makes him an ironical bow. Anderson returns the bow humorously._) Come: you’ll have a cup of tea, to prevent you catching cold?
RICHARD. I observe that Mrs. Anderson is not quite so pressing as you are, Pastor.
JUDITH. (_almost stifled with resentment, which she has been expecting her husband to share and express for her at every insult of Richard’s_). You are welcome for my husband’s sake. (_She brings the teapot to the fireplace and sets it on the hob._)
RICHARD. I know I am not welcome for my own, madam. (_He rises._) But I think I will not break bread here, Minister.
ANDERSON. (_cheerily_). Give me a good reason for that.
RICHARD. Because there is something in you that I respect, and that makes me desire to have you for my enemy.
ANDERSON. That’s well said. On those terms, sir, I will accept your enmity or any man’s. Judith: Mr. Dudgeon will stay to tea. Sit down: it will take a few minutes to draw by the fire. (_Richard glances at him with a troubled face; then sits down with his head bent, to hide a convulsive swelling of his throat._) I was just saying to my wife, Mr. Dudgeon, that enmity— (_she grasps his hand and looks imploringly at him, doing both with an intensity that checks him at once_) Well, well, I mustn’t tell you, I see; but it was nothing that need leave us worse friend—enemies, I mean. Judith is a great enemy of yours.