"I don't like your manner or your innuendoes," said Loveland, stiffening.
"Oh, I don't mean any innuendoes," protested Mr. Milton, apologetically. "Let's keep friends. I want to help you. You had a little trouble with them at the hotel, didn't you?"
"I was abominably insulted, and I'll make them regret it."
"The best way to do that is to pay the bill right off. There's five hundred dollars in my pocket that's just crying to be in yours. And five hundred more——"
"What do you want me to do?" sharply asked Loveland.
"You'd like to know whether the candle's worth the game, eh? Well, I'm no Shylock. But see here, shall we come to terms over a drink? We're not far off the best bar in New York, and——"
"No, thank you," Val cut in decidedly, though he was cold enough, and hollow enough within to be tempted by the thought of warmth, and refreshment of any sort. "Tell me now what possible motive you, a stranger, can have in offering to lend me two hundred pounds."
"I said nothing about lending," insinuated Mr. Milton. "But if you like to call it a loan, you can. You've got your 'family traditions' to keep up, I suppose?" And he laughed in high good humour.
"I have," said Val, coldly.
"That's all right," returned the other. "Well, to get to business then. You were on pretty friendly terms with Mrs. Milton on board ship?"