Wareham was stung into exclamation.
“You don’t know what you’re asking!”
“I know exactly; and it isn’t much for a clever fellow like you. You can understand that when I go pottering round, she sees exactly what’s coming, and shies. As likely as not, she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings—”
“Oh, your feelings! She didn’t show much regard for your feelings when she flung you over!” cried Wareham savagely.
“No, but look here, old fellow, you mustn’t be so prejudiced. It was natural enough when you didn’t know her, and I shan’t forget what you did for me in those black days, but I did think that once you were thrown with her you would have your eyes opened, and appreciate her.”
Wareham looked queerly at him.
“How do you know I don’t?”
“Because then you wouldn’t blame her. And I believe you’d stick to me now. At first I could think of nothing but that I was near her again, and could look at her; but finding out how gingerly I’ve got to move, makes me uneasy. If you were here you’d give me a wrinkle or two. Come, Dick, think better of it.” Hugh decapitated an inoffensive ox-daisy as he spoke. “You needn’t expect to put me off with talk of business. Don’t I know most of your affairs?”
“Not all.” Wareham’s voice had grown gentler. “Hugh, do you remember my telling you that I had written a letter?”
“To me?”