"When was this appointment made?" "This afternoon."
"I see. You consider it sufficient excuse for breaking a previous engagement which has entailed some time and trouble, and which you suggested yourself?"
Fleet House, the chilly and wicked Grecian house which to Martin was beginning to seem like a prison, might have laughed.
"The circumstances are unusual," retorted Martin. He was conscious, under the black glitter of the eyes, how flat these words would have sounded in court. I hoped you would release me."
Stannard slowly shook his head. He sent a surreptitious glance towards — Ruth, who was sitting on a sofa turning over the pages of an illustrated paper as if she had heard nothing.
"I can't force you," smiled Stannard, "But 'release' you: no, I will not The fact is, young man, you've lost your nerve."
"That doesn't happen to be true."
Truth has many guises," said Stannard, dryly scoring a point while appearing to concede one. "It's unfortunate, too. I had devised a special test for your nerve."
"Nerve?"
"And for mine too, of course. Now it will apply only to me. Still," he chuckled, "I hope to survive." "What’s the test?"