"Yes. When I told him how big you were, he didn't seem so eager to fight. And he went away," said Pollyooly quickly. "But he told me to tell you that you hadn't seen the last of him—not by a long chalk."
Her host's scowl lightened a little; there was almost a faint satisfaction on his face as he said:
"So he fears my rivalry still, does he?" Then his face grew gloomier than ever; and he added: "There's no need. I am not one to sit at the feet of a tarnished ideal. There will be a gap—there is a gap—but I have done with HER for good and all. I have—done—with—HER."
He had drawn himself up to utter the last words with a splendid air; then he said sadly:
"I think I should like my tea."
"I'll get it at once," said Pollyooly cheerfully.
She was not long about it. Hilary Vance took the Lump on his knee, gave him a lump of sugar, poured out the tea, and began to drink it with an air of gloomy resignation.
Presently he patted the Lump's bright red curls and said:
"Let this be a warning to you, red cherub, never to trust a woman—never as long as you live."
The Lump grunted peacefully.