Mervyn stared at him silently for a time, thinking this earnest surveillance might attract his attention and induce him to speak first. But Raymond, thoughtfully murmuring, sotto voce,—“‘Tell me, maidens, have you seen,’” took no notice of his quondam Damon, save a nod of greeting when Mervyn had entered and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“What are you going to do with those things?” Mervyn asked. No one can be so brusque as the thoroughly trained. A few weeks ago, however, the question would have savored merely of familiarity, as of boys together. Now, in view of the strained relations subsisting between them, it was so rude as to justify the reply. Raymond lifted his head, stared hard at his brother officer across the table, then answered:—
“What do you suppose?”
Mervyn put his elbow on the table, with his chin in his hand, speaking between his set teeth.
“I will tell you exactly what I suppose. I suppose you are insufferable enough to intend to present them to Miss Howard.”
Raymond was obliged to lean backward to be rid of the intervening flame of the candle in order to see his interlocutor, face to face, and the action gave added emphasis to the answer,—“Why, bless me, you are a conjurer!”
“I want you to understand distinctly that I object.”
“I shall not take the trouble to understand any objection of yours,” declared Raymond.
“I have a right to object to your presumption in offering her any gift. She is engaged to be married to me.”
Raymond paled visibly. Then with a sudden return of color he declared, hardily:—