“Why, Stephen!” echoed Andrew, “this—this is good of you! You remember Rosamund? We have just found out that——” But Rosamund had turned, and was walking quickly away over the sand.
Stephen filled a pipe and lighted it before he said: “You’ve made good use of your time, old man. I congratulate you.” His tone was cold.
“There is no reason why I should not make good use of my time,” Dornington answered, and his tone had caught the chill of the other’s.
“None whatever. You have secured the prize, and I congratulate you. Whether it’s fair to the girl is another question.”
In moments of agitation a man instinctively feels for his pipe. It was now Dornington’s turn to fill and light.
“Of course it’s your own affair,” said Guillemot, chafing at the silence, “but I think you might have given the heiress a chance. However, it’s each for himself, I suppose, and——”
“Heiress?”
“Yes, the heiress—the Millionairess, if you prefer it. I’ve been looking into her affairs: it is just about a million.”
“Rather cheap chaff, isn’t it?”
“It’s a very lucky thing for you,” said Stephen savagely. “Perhaps I ought not to grudge it to you. But I must say, Dornington—I see we look at the thing differently—but I must say, I shouldn’t have cared to grab at such luck myself.”