"No? What is the point?" Saltash turned again to the whisky decanter.
"Well, you've got me into a damn' hole, and I want to know how you're going to get me out again." Larpent's voice was gruff and surly; he stared into his tumbler without drinking.
Saltash chuckled to himself with mischievous amusement. "My dear chap, I can't get you out. That's just it. I want you to stay there."
Larpent muttered deeply and inarticulately, and began to drink.
Saltash turned round, glass in hand, and sat down on the edge of the high, cushioned fender. "I really don't think you are greatly to be pitied," he remarked lightly. "The child will soon be married and off your hands."
"Oh, that's the idea, is it?" said Larpent. "Who's going to marry her?
Young Brian?"
"Don't you approve?" said Saltash.
"I don't think it'll come off," said Larpent with decision.
"Why not?" An odd light flickered in the younger man's eyes for an instant. "Are you going to refuse your consent?"
"I?" Larpent shrugged his shoulders. "Are you going to give yours?"