He fell to staring at Jarvis, striving to imitate the other’s disconcerting look.
“She loves me, you know.”
He had not intended to taunt his rival, but the words slipped out without volition. He was glad of it, in view of the blighting change that swept over the other’s face.
“Yes,” Jarvis said dully, “I know that.”
He was realizing all at once that the blow that felled Whitcomb must reach her tender breast also.
“There’s no use of beating about the bush,” David went on. “She told me about your visit to her the other night. At first I didn’t catch on about that remarkable client of yours and the care of the interesting child and all that. But when I got out of her the fact that you had been courting her while I was away, of course I was on to your little game.”
He paused to allow his words their full weight, exulting in the look of quiet despair that appeared to have settled upon Jarvis’s face.
“You thought if you couldn’t catch and hold her one way you would another. You planned to keep her from me! Deny it if you dare!”
Jarvis looked up, opened his lips as if minded to reply; then his head drooped, and again he sighed deeply. He was striving to master himself; that self which even now struggled like a leashed hound under his iron hand.
“I must be fair,” he groaned half aloud. “I must—I must, for her sake.”