Landon dropped his hands slowly upon the table and gave his head a tiny shake.
"I don't understand you," he said. "Why has my cousin a distaste for my society? We have never been in collision. As a matter of fact, he was best man at my wedding."
"It is to be supposed that he read the account of your divorce," said the other, stolidly. "He has now made the acquaintance of your wife's relations."
"I see," said Landon, slowly. "Is that all?"
"Isn't it enough? Are you generally received?"
There was something callous, almost brutal, in the man's tone. The tiny spot of color which began to burn in Landon's sallow cheek was evidence that he recognized it.
"So," he answered, "I am to eat dirt at the hands of Captain John Aylmer? I am to appear to like it? Why?"
"Because," said Miller, dispassionately, "you are practically penniless. That is your side of the question. Our side is that your cousin happens to be what he is—Secretary to the Military Works Commission, who hold the immediate future of Gibraltar in their hands."
For the second time, and through a longer silence, the two stared at each other. As the fiery torch of comprehension burned brightly on Landon's face, rose to his forehead, seemed, indeed, to gleam in his eyes, his lips, which were at first grim and rigid, curled slowly into a sneer.
"By the Lord!" he swore. "By the Lord, Miller, you have an impudence!"