Grant's eyes shifted. He put on his white silk pajamas, thrust his feet into slippers, tossed the silk-lined linen robe about his broad, too square shoulders, and led the way into the other room. Then he said: "Do you mean Margaret Severence?"
"That's it!" exclaimed Craig, pacing the floor. "I've gone and got myself engaged—"
"One minute," interrupted Arkwright in a voice so strange that Joshua paused and stared at him. "I can't talk to you about that."
"Why not?"
"For many reasons. The chief one—Fact is, Josh, I've acted like a howling skunk about you with her. I ran you down to her; tried to get her myself."
Craig waved his hand impatiently. "You didn't succeed, did you? And you're ashamed of it, aren't you? Well, if I wasted time going round apologizing for all the things I'd done that I'm ashamed of I'd have no time left to do decently. So that's out of the way. Now, help me."
"What a generous fellow you are!"
"Generous? Stuff! I need you. We're going to stay friends. You can do what you damn please—I'll like you just the same. I may swat you if you get in my way; but as soon as you were out of it—and that'd be mighty soon and sudden, Grant, old boy—why, I'd be friends again. Come, tell me how I'm to get clear of this engagement."
"I can't talk about it to you."
"Why not?"