He paused. Eustace was looking up at him from under frowning brows, his blue eyes piercing and merciless.
"It's all very fine, Stumpy," he said, after a moment. "Some people think that an apology more than atones for the offence. I don't."
"Neither do I," said Scott quietly. "But it's better than nothing, isn't it?" His eyes met his brother's very steadily and openly. His attitude was unflinching.
"It depends," Eustace rejoined curtly. "It is if you mean it. If you don't, it's not worth—that," with a snap of the fingers.
"I do mean it," said Scott, flushing.
"You do?" Eustace looked at him still more searchingly.
"I always mean what I say," Scott returned with deliberation.
"And you meant what you said this morning?" Eustace pounced without mercy upon the weak spot.
But the armour was proof. Scott remained steadfast. "I meant it—yes. But
I might have put it in a different form. I lost my temper. I am sorry."
Eustace continued to regard him with a straight, unsparing scrutiny. "And you consider that to be the sort of apology I can accept?" he asked, after a moment.