“Look here,” cried Mark, fiercely; “none of that. If you want to insult me, say so right out, and then I shall know what you mean. None of your covert allusions.”
Richard Frayne laughed outright, and his cousin took a step forward menacingly.
“Why, what has come to you?” cried the former. “Don’t be so peppery. I want to help you, if I can.”
“Do you?” cried Mark, eagerly. “There, I’m sorry I spoke so sharply. That brute Simpson has been writing to Draycott.”
“Simpson, the tailor? What has he got to write about?”
Mark Frayne scowled, and gave a kick out with his leg, but did not answer.
“Have you been running a bill with him?”
Mark nodded.
“Then why don’t you pay it?”
“Why don’t I pay it?” snarled Mark. “Am I a baronet with plenty of money?”