"Nor I," said Scott, with very unaccustomed bitterness.
He kept his hand upon his brother's arm as they turned. He leaned slightly upon him as they ascended the stairs. Eustace's room was the first they reached, and they turned into that.
Scott was very pale, but there was no lack of resolution about him as he closed the door and faced the elder man.
"Well, what is it?" Eustace demanded.
"Just this." Very steadily Scott made answer. "I want to know how far this matter has gone between you and Miss Bathurst. I want to know—what you are going to do."
"My intentions, eh?" Eustace's sneer became very pronounced as he put the question. He pulled forward a chair and sat down with an arrogant air as though to bring himself thus to Scott's level.
Scott's eyes gleamed again momentarily at the action, but he stood like a rock. "Yes, your intentions," he said briefly.
Sir Eustace's black brows went up, he looked him up and down. "Can you give me any reason at all why I should hold myself answerable to you?" he asked.
Scott's hands clenched as he stood. "I can," he said. "I regard Miss Bathurst as very peculiarly our charge—under our protection. We are both in a great measure responsible for her, though possibly—" he hesitated slightly—"my responsibility is greater than yours, in so far as I take it more seriously. I do not think that either of us is in a position to make love to her under existing circumstances. But that, I admit, is merely a matter of opinion. Most emphatically neither of us has the right to trifle with her. I want to know—and I must know—are you trifling with her, as you have trifled with Miss de Vigne for the past fortnight? Or are you in earnest? Which?"
He spoke sternly, as one delivering an ultimatum. His eyes, steel-bright and unwavering, were fixed upon his brother's face.