"Quite obviously, Mr. Weldon."
"Thank you for doing me that justice," he said, after an instant when their meeting eyes flashed like meeting blades of steel. "Stuart had no notion that he was making a mess of things."
She faced him a little proudly.
"I am unable to see what mess he can have made, Mr. Weldon. It is always a pleasure to meet an old acquaintance."
Few things could have hurt him more than the icy conventionality of her words. All the gentler side of his nature was crying out for mercy; but he smothered its cries and faced her bravely, praying the while for some one to come to them and end the scene. The Ethel Dent he had known in the old days had been a woman of flesh and blood; this was a statue of marble, polished and beautiful, but cold withal. He could only seek to meet her with equal coldness, then make his escape to nurse his wounds unseen. Nevertheless, in spite of his resolutions to the contrary, a sudden heat crept into his answering words,
"But I thought you had annulled the acquaintance."
She looked up at him in mute surprise. Then, mustering her pride, she forced herself to smile.
"I?" she answered lightly. "Oh, no, I am only too proud to count a V. C. among my friends."
He waited until the last word had dropped from her lips, waited until the silence had dropped over the last word. Then he faced her yet once again. This time, there was determination in his eyes, determination and a great, indomitable love.
"Ethel," he said imperiously; "for God's sake, stop fencing with me, and have it out. Remember it is now, or never."