He shook his head, with an odd little gasp. I saw him making for the pill-box again.
“What!” cried I. “Did he, too, accept me as a pledge?”
Something in his face enlightened me. The man was too shallow to hide a guilty self-consciousness.
“Did he?” I said sharply; “or was he never told perhaps that there was any question of sinfulness?”
I could see him hesitate, and it decided me.
“Was Lord Skene told?” I said, and took a step towards him. “Was he told?” I read the answer in his perturbed eyes. “Is this how you reconcile your conscience with your interests?” I cried scornfully.
Having yielded, like a weak creature, to resolution, he took refuge, like a woman, in personal grievance. He rose, quivering all over.
“How dare you come and bully me like this!” he cried. “What instigated you to it, I say?”
“A desire for the truth, sir. I understood parsons made a speciality of it.”
“Not at all,” he retorted angrily—“at least there are truths and truths. To withhold some for a worthy purpose is not to lie.”