“Then you found that I was a rival, and you hated me?”
“No: not hated you,” said the vicar, sadly. “I felt that we could never be friends. That was all.”
“Look here, Lee,” said Trethick; “are you a saint, or a humbug?”
“Certainly not the first,” said the vicar, smiling. “I sincerely hope not the second.”
“No: I don’t believe you are,” said Geoffrey, shortly. “Well, sir, the game’s up. I’ve failed in my projects, and I’ve failed in my love. The way is open. I am no rival now.”
“Trethick,” said the vicar, earnestly, “can’t we be friends?” and he held out his hand.
“Oh, yes, if you like,” said Geoffrey, bitterly. “But why should you want to be friends with such a blackguard? There, man, go and have your way. I’m out of the race.”
“You are speaking very bitterly, Trethick,” said the vicar, sadly.
“You are bitterly disappointed with your failures. So am I. It is as Mr Penwynn said that evening: we have not been able to make our way.”
“But you are making your way,” said Geoffrey.