“It’s deuced unfortunate, Rob,” said the other in his nervous way. Then, with a kind of bravado, he continued half laughingly: “But then, you see, you have been away two years, and you have stopped away too long. It’s a pity, too, such friends as we were.”
Ere he had finished speaking his companion had seized his arm as in a vice.
“Huish!” he cried hoarsely, “if you speak to me in that tone of voice I will not answer for the consequences. I do not wish to be rash, or to condemn you unheard; but this is of such vital import to me that, by God, if you speak of it in that flippant tone again, I shall forget that we are gentlemen, and, like some brute beast, I shall have you by the throat.”
“Loose my arm,” exclaimed the other, flushing more deeply; “you hurt me.”
“You hurt me,” cried the other, trembling with passion—“to the heart.”
“If I have wronged you,” exclaimed Huish, “even if duelling is out of fashion, I can give you satisfaction.”
“Satisfaction!” cried the other bitterly. “Look here, James Huish. You have been a man of fashion, while I have been a blunt soldier. If what I hear be true, would it be any satisfaction for me to shoot you through the head, and break that poor girl’s heart, for I could do it if I liked; and if I did not, would it be any satisfaction to let you make yourself a murderer?”
Huish shuddered slightly, and the colour paled in his cheeks.
“Now answer my question. I say, is this true?”
“We are old friends,” retorted Huish, “but you have no right to question me.”