“You’ve done me a very great injustice, and you’ve almost done me a serious injury—perhaps you really have, for Mr. Beman has turned me out,” he said. “It’s customary, I think, for people like us to repair such injuries as well as they can.”
“You’ve injured yourself by your habits,” answered Alexander. “I’ve a perfect right to say so. Don’t contest it.”
“It’s contestable, at all events. I’m willing to admit that I’ve been what’s called dissipated. More than most men, I daresay.”
“That’s undeniable, and that’s precisely what I said, or words to the same effect.”
“I think not. You were telling Katharine just now that I was a drunkard and a reprobate. I’ve not touched wine for months, and as for being a reprobate—it’s a strong word, but rather vague. Since you’ve used it, please define what you mean by it.”
“It’s a general term of disapprobation which I applied to you because I think you’re a bad character.”
“Accusations of that sort have to be supported. You must go with me to Mr. Beman to-morrow, and repeat what you’ve said.”
“Indeed? I shall do nothing of the kind.”
“If Mr. Beman asks you to do it, you’ll have to—at the risk of losing your character for truthfulness.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” asked Alexander, and his voice rose angrily as he stepped forward.