"That's about all, I think," said Jim dryly. "Good-bye."
"Then you won't listen—not if I promise——"
"What——?"
"Anything. Why, you've got me, Jim. I can't do a thing with you ready to tell Moira—even if I wanted to. What's the use? It only means ruin for you. Wait a few days and we'll have another talk; just wait until to-morrow night. Give me a chance to think. I'll even—I'll even get out of France and go out West somewhere and make a fresh start. I will. I mean it. I did you a dirty trick once, but I'll try to square myself. Give me a chance. Think it over. Meet me to-morrow. I'm all in to-night. Promise you won't speak."
"No," said Jim, after a moment of deliberation. "I'll promise nothing, but I'll meet you to-morrow night at Javet's—at twelve—with the money."
Harry gasped a sigh of relief and straightened, offering his hand. "Thanks, Jim. To-morrow. And you won't tell her, I know. You couldn't. It would be too cruel. She'll suffer—my God! You know her. Can't you see how she'd suffer?"
"I—I didn't start this thing——"
"But you'll finish it, Jim. She believes in him, even if she doesn't believe in me. It will kill her."
He saw that he had made an impression on his brother. Jim stood silent, his head bowed.
"Don't tell her to-morrow, Jim," Harry pleaded. "Promise."