"Then what more do you want?" questioned Monck.
Tommy made a gesture of helplessness. "Damn it, man! Don't you know she is making plans to go Home?"
"Well?" said Monck.
Tommy faced round. "I say, like a good chap,—you've practically forced this, you know—you're not going to—to let her go?"
Monck's eyes looked back straight and hard. He did not speak for a moment; then, "You want to know my intentions, Tommy," he said. "You shall. Your sister and I are observing a truce for the present, but it won't last for ever. I am making plans for a move myself. I am going to live at the Club."
"Is that going to help?" demanded Tommy bluntly.
Monck looked sardonic. "We mustn't offend the angels, you know, Tommy," he said.
Tommy made a sound expressive of gross irreverence. "Oh, that's it, is it? Now we know where we are. I've been feeling pretty rotten about it, I can tell you."
"You always were an ass, weren't you?" said Monck, getting up.
Tommy got up too, giving himself an impatient shake. He pushed an apologetic hand through Monck's arm. "I can't expect ever to get even with a swell like you," he said humbly,