“From Joe. You see I’m not her brother at all.”
Langdon rose slowly from his chair. Barnes too rose. He forgot for the moment his own rights in this matter. He felt as though he were confessing to an imposition. It occurred to him that this was just the way that Aunt Philomela must have first looked upon the plan.
“Then who the devil are you?” demanded Langdon, aggressively.
“No relation to the family at all,” answered Barnes. “To you—just a fellow artist.”
Langdon turned his eyes towards the brick house. He repeated almost automatically,
“No relation at all. Just a fellow artist.”
“And Joe himself,” ran on Barnes, “is up there now. He came back to-day.”
Langdon tottered. Barnes seized his arm.
“Sit down, old man,” he urged.
But Langdon shook himself free and stepping back a pace stared like a man at bay. The attitude helped Barnes to justify himself again. They stood now man to man.