Winn stuck his hands in his pockets and looked immovably obstinate.
“I’m damned if I do,” he replied. “Why should I? What’s the use of saying good-by? The proper thing to do when you’re going away is to go. You needn’t linger, mewing about like somebody’s pet kitten.”
Lionel poured out the whiskey before replying, and pushed a glass in Winn’s direction; then he said:
“Don’t be a fool, old chap; you’ll have to say good-by to her. You don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“What’s it to you whether I hurt her feelings or not?” Winn asked savagely.
There was a moment’s sharp tension. It dropped at the tone of Lionel’s quiet voice.
“It’s a great deal to me,” he said steadily; “but I know it’s not half as much to me as it is to you, old Winn.”
“Oh, all right,” said Winn after a short pause. “I suppose I’ll say it if you think I ought to. Only stand by if you happen to be anywhere about. By the by, I hope I shall have some kind of a scrap with Roper before the morning’s over. I shall enjoy that. Infernal little beast, I caught him out last night. I can’t tell you how; but unless he’s off by the eight o’clock to-morrow, he’s in for punishment.”
Lionel laughed.
“All right,” he said; “don’t murder him. I’m going to turn in now. Sorry about Bouncing. Did he have a bad time, poor chap?”