Robin hesitated in obvious reluctance. "It was after supper," he said. "My head ached, and I went outside, and he came down the drive. And he—and he laughed about—about you coming home alone from Burchester, and said—said that your game was up anyhow. And I didn't know what he meant, Dicky—" Robin's arms suddenly clung closer—"but I got angry, because I hate him to talk about you. And I—I went for him, Dicky." His voice dropped on a shamed note, and he became silent.
"Well?" Dick said gravely. "What happened then?"
Very unwillingly Robin responded to his insistence. "He got hold of me—so that I couldn't hurt him—and then he said—he said—" A great sob rose in his throat choking his utterance.
"What did he say?"
There was a certain austerity in Dick's question. Robin shivered as it reached him.
With difficulty he struggled on. "Said that only—a fool—like me—could help knowing that—you hadn't—a chance—with any woman—so long as—so long as—" He choked again and sank into quivering silence.
Dick's hand found the rough head and patted it very tenderly. "But you're not fool enough to take what Jack says seriously, are you?" he said.
Robin stifled a sob. "He said that—afterwards," he whispered. "And he took me along to The Three Tuns—to make me forget it."
"You actually drank with him after that!" Dick said.
"I didn't know what I was doing, Dicky," he make apologetic answer. "It—knocked the wind out of me. You see, I—I'd never thought of that before."