"No, of course. You ain't so silly. His heart's set on my taking Leo, but I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole, now. My hero! I'll marry you tomorrow."
"The devil you will!" said Alexander.
They stood together at the door, he and Leo Cohen, who had persuaded the old man at last, on one excuse or another, to invite him upstairs. Neither Loveland nor Isidora had heard the door open; neither knew how long the eavesdroppers had listened outside.
The girl struggled up from her knees, and as Loveland bounded out of the big chair she caught his arm, nestling against him.
"You villain, stealin' my gal's love, behind my back, and enticin' her to run off with you!" stuttered Alexander, purple with fury.
"I didn't——" began Val, indignantly.
"What, you didn't?" roared the Jew. "You want me to believe my gal asked you to marry her?"
Loveland started as if Alexander had struck him, and flushed to the forehead. Involuntarily he glanced at Isidora, who looked up at him beseechingly. "Spare me!" the almond eyes implored.
"No. I don't want you to believe that," he said. And how hugely he would have laughed had he been told a few weeks ago that he would let himself be misunderstood and shamed for the sake of a girl like Isidora! But now he did not feel it strange that he should make this sacrifice for her. And curiously enough, it seemed to be Lesley Dearmer's voice, Lesley Dearmer's eyes, which—haunting him always—bade him spare this common little Jewess, at any cost.
"You're a d——d sneak," said Alexander. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself?"