"Not a bit of it. Lancaster saw her that night in the theatre, and even then admired her more than I liked. Down here I saw them together, and he loves her. I'm in love myself, and I know. And I'm not certain," added Darrel, viciously, "that she doesn't love him."
"I tell you she can't," cried Jarman, agitated.
"Oh! then she knows Lancaster killed her brother?"
"She knows nothing. I only speak from my knowledge of her character. She would not love a man she knew so little of as Lancaster."
"According to you, she did not know him by that name. But she is just the kind of romantic girl to fall in love with that Irish secretary of yours. He made up well for the part," sneered Darrel.
Jarman straightened his shoulders. "I don't think it is good taste to discuss Miss Starth," he said, "but I can safely assure you that she does not love the man."
"You seem very sure." Darrel scanned Eustace in his usual insolent way. "I believe you are in love yourself," he said with a short laugh. "Well, I give you the same warning as I gave Lancaster."
"I'm not disposed to take any warning," rejoined Jarman, hotly, "and if you denounce Lancaster as having been here I shall deny it."
"Oh, now that he has cut, there's no necessity for me to say a word. But don't you interfere."
"See here, Darrel," said Jarman, controlling his temper with an effort, "no man shall speak to me like this. I forbid you to mention Miss Starth's name to me again. She will choose for herself."