"I can't for the life of me see why," Arthur declared. "And I—well, it's no use beating about the bush. Isobel is the only girl in the world I could ever look at. I am fond of her! I can't help it! I love her! There!"
Mabane mercifully took up the burden of speech.
"Have you said anything to her?" he asked.
"No."
"Not a word?"
"Not a word," Arthur declared. "She is too young. She has not begun to think about those things yet. But she is wonderful, and I love her. It is all very well for you two," he continued earnestly. "You are both over thirty, and confirmed bachelors. I'm only just twenty-four, and I've never cared for a girl a snap of the fingers yet. I don't care any more about knocking about. Of course, I've done a bit at it like everyone else, but Isobel has knocked all that out of me. I should be quite content to settle down to-morrow!"
I tried to put myself in his place, to enter for a moment into his point of view. Yet I am afraid that I must have seemed very unsympathetic.
"Arthur," I said, "I am sorry for you, but it won't do. I fancy that before long she will be removed from us altogether. For her sake, and the sake of our own honour, no word of what you have told us must pass your lips. Unless you can promise that——"
I hesitated. Arthur had risen to his feet. The colour had mounted to his temples, his eyes were bright with anger.
"I will not promise it," he declared. "I love Isobel, and very soon I mean to tell her so."