“My name is Rylands; you called at my house this afternoon and saw my wife,” said Rylands slowly.
“I did,” said Hamlin. “It was mighty kind of you to return my call so soon, but I didn't expect it.”
“I reckon not. But I know who you are, and that you are an old associate of hers, in the days of her sin and unregeneration. I want you to answer me, before God and man, what was your purpose in coming there to-day?”
“Look here! I don't think it's necessary to drag in strangers to hear my answer,” said Jack, lying down again, “but I came to borrow a horse.”
“Is that the truth?”
Jack got upon his feet very solemnly, put on his hat, drew down his waistcoat, and approached Mr. Rylands with his hands in his pockets.
“Mr. Rylands,” he said, with great suavity of manner, “this is the second time today that I have had the honor of having my word doubted by your family. Your wife was good enough to question my assertion that I didn't know that she was living here, but that was a woman's vanity. You have no such excuse. There is my horse yonder, lame, as you may see. I didn't lame him for the sake of seeing your wife nor you.”
There was that in Mr. Hamlin's audacity and perfect self-possession which, even while it irritated, never suggested deceit. He was too reckless of consequence to lie. Mr. Rylands was staggered and half convinced. Nevertheless, he hesitated.
“Dare you tell me everything that happened between my wife and you?”
“Dare you listen?” said Mr. Hamlin quietly.