"I wrote to you when you were at Monte Carlo," he said more quietly, "and asked you to lend me a hundred pounds."
"That's so," said Melville. "Sorry I couldn't oblige you, but I didn't even read your letter till I was on my way home, and then I was broke myself."
"But you got a hundred pounds out of Sir Geoffrey," spluttered Ralph.
"I did," said Melville. "I hope you did the same."
"Good heavens, man!" cried Ralph, as angrily as before; "don't try your vile swindles on me too. You told Sir Geoffrey you lent me that hundred pounds and got him to hand you over an open cheque for the amount in repayment of what you said was my debt, leaving him to get explanations from me afterwards."
"I hope the old man wasn't very crusty," said Melville sweetly.
"But your whole story was an infernal lie," roared Ralph, "and you got that money by a vulgar, low-down swindle. You are a liar, Melville, and a thief. I wish to heaven Sir Geoffrey had kicked you out of the house before he parted with the cheque."
"I daresay you do," Melville replied, unmoved; "but really, Ralph, you've had your whack out of the old buck, and now you're going to marry the Austen money you needn't grudge me a bit, need you? It's not exactly brotherly."
The sneering affront goaded Ralph almost to madness.
"You can thank me that you've not been arrested already for getting that money under false pretences," he said, livid with passion. "If Sir Geoffrey had had his own way you would have been, and 'pon my word, I'm beginning to be sorry I begged you off."