"Well, not too much of a sacrifice, I hope," Logan temporized "You don't regret standing by?"
"No, I don't regret it."
"Yet your tone sounds sort of odd, as if you were keeping something back. I don't see why, either. I've kept my promise. I've explained—put the whole story in a nutshell, not to bore you too much with my love affairs gone bad. And what I've told you is the Gospel's own truth, old man, whether you believe it or not."
"I don't believe it," said Peter. "I know it to be the devil's own lie."
As he spoke he rose, and Logan jumped up, hot and red in the face.
"By Jove!" he sputtered. "I don't know what you mean."
"You know very well," Rolls insisted. "I mean—that you're a liar. A damn liar! The girl didn't come here because she wanted to come. And she wouldn't take a pearl collar or a paper collar from you if you went on your knees."
"You must be crazy!" Logan stared at him, paler now. "If you weren't my guest, in my house, I—I'd knock you down."
"Try it," Peter invited him. "This is your father's house, I believe, not yours. And I don't call myself your guest. Neither need you. I'm a sort of out-of-season April Fool. At least, I was. I'm not now."
"I tell you—you're bughouse!" stammered Logan.