"Well then, we're quits now:" George quietly and mysteriously mewed.
"One confesses that the question of the pseudonym interests one," Sterling judicially said.
"I had half-a-dozen. You see when I was kicked out from college, without a farthing or a friend at hand, I literally became an adventurer. Thank God Who gave me the pluck to face my adventures. I was obliged to live by my wits. Thank God again Who gave me wits to live by."
Cardinal Leighton was standing-up, blinking and blushing with indignation which distorted his honest placid features. "Holy Father, don't say another word." He twitched round towards his fellow-collegians. "How can you torture the man so!" he cried. "Can't you see what you're doing, wracking the poor soul like this, pulling him in little pieces all over again? Shame on ye!—Holy Father don't say another word."
"Oh if I had only known!" cried Van Kristen.
"You did! I told you myself; and you didn't believe me!" George fulminated.
The youngest cardinal wept into his handkerchief, shaking with sobs. George neither saw nor noted anyone. He was glaring like a python. Demurrers to Leighton's remarks arose. No one wanted to wrack anybody. Questions had been invited. Of course no one believed. But it would be so much more satisfactory—Ragna added. George sat violently still in his chair while they talked: let them talk; and prepared to resume.
"If Your Holiness would condescend——" Carvale began.
"There is no Holiness here," George interrupted, in that cold white candent voice which was more caustic than silver nitrate and more thrilling than a scream.