Braithwaite lurched forward, folding his arms on the table. His voice was thick with passion when he spoke. "What you tell me sounds mad; but you'd gain nothing by telling it if it were not true."
"Nothing," Tabs confirmed.
"No, nothing. If it weren't true, I could go to the telephone and disprove your falsehood inside of ten minutes."
"You could."
"Then it is true—which means that you've ousted me. And that's why you can afford to be so calm and Christ-like. I've been wondering how you'd contrived this Galilean display of charity."
"You've not heard me out." Tabs still spoke with friendliness. "While we were together your telegram arrived and I agreed to be the bearer of her message. But as for her second request, that I should become engaged to her, I refused that point-blank."
"You what?" The anger cleared from Braithwaite's face, leaving the chalky mask of a tragic harlequin. When he spoke again it was humbly. "You can't blame me for not believing you. You jump about. You say several things which seem to point to a definite conclusion and then at the last moment you change it. I don't know whether you do it to amuse yourself at my expense or whether it's merely the way your mind works. At any rate, it's cruel—this cat and mouse game. I wish you'd be direct."
"That's what I wish to be. You could help me if you'd ask questions."
Braithwaite sighed, wearied beyond endurance. He was becoming less like the General and more like the old dependent Braithwaite every second. "You wanted to marry her last night, only to find she'd promised herself to me already. Then she comes to you this morning, offering herself, and you refuse her. That doesn't make sense. Why did you refuse her?"