“Dare! of course I dare,” returned Dan, defiantly. “If there was ever anything at all it was upon my side only—and a mere trifling fancy.”
The old gentleman brought his hand down upon his table with a blow that sent the papers fluttering to the floor. “Trifling!” he roared. “Would you trifle with a lady from your own state, sir?”
“I was never in love with her,” exclaimed Dan, angrily.
“Not in love with her? What business have you not to be in love with her?” retorted the Major, tossing back his long white hair. “I have given her to understand that you are in love with her, sir.”
The blood rushed to Dan's head, and he stumbled over an ottoman as he turned away.
“Then I call it unwarrantable interference,” he said brutally, and went toward the door. There the Major's flashing eyes held him back an instant.
“It was when I believed you to be worthy of her,” went on the old man, relentlessly, “when—fool that I was—I dared to hope that dirty blood could be made clean again; that Jack Montjoy's son could be a gentleman.”
For a moment only Dan stood motionless and looked at him from the threshold. Then, without speaking, he crossed the hall, took down his hat, and unbarred the outer door. It slammed after him, and he went out into the night.
A keen wind was still blowing, and as he descended the steps he felt it lifting the dampened hair from his forehead. With a breath of relief he stood bareheaded in the drive and raised his face to the cool elm leaves that drifted slowly down. After the heated atmosphere of the library there was something pleasant in the mere absence of light, and in the soft rustling of the branches overhead. The humour of his blood went suddenly quiet as if he had plunged headlong into cold water.
While he stood there motionless his thoughts were suspended, and his senses, gaining a brief mastery, became almost feverishly alert; he felt the night wind in his face, he heard the ceaseless stirring of the leaves, and he saw the sparkle of the gravel in the yellow shine that streamed from the library windows. But with his first step, his first movement, there came a swift recoil of his anger, and he told himself with a touch of youthful rhetoric, “that come what would, he was going to the devil—and going speedily.”