For the first time Francis saw him angry.

His eyes were blazing.

His voice--Francis had followed him at once into the street--shook with passion.

His hand had fallen heavily upon the shoulder of a huge carter, who, with whip in hand, was belabouring a thin scarecrow of a horse.
"What the devil are you doing ?" Sir Timothy demanded.
The man stared at his questioner, and the instinctive antagonism of race vibrated in his truculent reply.

The carter was a beery-faced, untidy-looking brute, but powerfully built and with huge shoulders.