"Edna engaged?"
"Yes, and to a Britisher." Judge Trent's subdued tone suddenly became violent. "How long has she had him on her string? She hasn't treated you right, John; or else it's your own fault, and you've shilly-shallied too long with your confounded notions of honor. Which is it?"
Dunham remained silent and motionless; and his shock and grief acted as a quietus on the older man's belligerency. "Forgive me, Boy. This isn't any time to haul you over the coals. It seems it isn't any itch for a title in Edna's case. The fellow hasn't any handle to his name, and he has money—or pretends to have. Sylvia says she's very happy."
"She deserves to be," said Dunham.
"She doesn't. She's a simpleton; and worse, for she's been leading you on."
"No, she hasn't, Judge Trent."
"Oh, of course you'll always swear to that. Let it happen thirty years hence to your son, and you'll call things by their right names."
Dunham heard the affection for himself in the strained voice, and he turned slowly around and smiled up into his partisan's lean, excited face, with eyes that again gave the judge an unaccustomed sensation.
"You've been a dunce, Boy. Why didn't you get busy at the island last summer, after all your talk about adoration? You could have got her. I don't believe you've half tried."
John still smiled as he replied quietly, "No. I haven't half tried."