“You may—of course,” he said. “But it’s highly improbable. Two years is a long time to stay in hospital. Almost certainly you have been living somewhere, in new relationships. Be reasonable, my friend. Can’t you see that the only thing is to sell out to me—and clear off, go right away—start a fresh life?”
Tremaine revolted.
“I’m damned if I do!” he replied. “Right is right—you can’t get away from it. I’m Harry Tremaine—and I’ve come back to my wife and child—to my own existence—and I’ve got a right to them!” He rose from his chair. “Enough of this talk! I’m master of this flat—and I give you just time enough to pack up your traps. Get a move on!” His voice quivered with an anger he instinctively accentuated as a protection against the other man’s arguments. “I want to be alone with my wife! Get out!” He moved forward menacingly.
Satterthwaite did not stir.
“I think not,” he said, steadily. “Not like that.”
Tremaine’s anger flamed up in him.
“Get out!—or I’ll throw you out!”
Satterthwaite smiled.
“If you wish to fight for her——?” he said, grimly inviting.