“She’s not,” said Bart shortly, keeping a tight hold on his temper. He added: “She’s not that kind of a girl. What’s more, I’ve done nothing to be blackmailed about.”
Penhallow’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t, eh? That’s what you say!”
“It’s true.”
Penhallow brought his fist down upon the table beside him with such force that the glass and the decanter standing on it rang. “Then if it’s true, what the devil are you playing at?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t you stand there lying to me!” roared Penhallow. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”
“All right, I won’t!” said Bart, wheeling to face him. “I am going to marry her, and be damned to you!”
Penhallow looked for a moment as though he would heave himself out of bed, but after glaring at Bart in hard-breathing silence, he relaxed against his pillows again, and drank what remained of the whisky in his glass. He set the glass down then, and said slowly: “Going to marry her, are you? We’ll see!”
“You can’t stop me.”
This seemed to amuse Penhallow, for he smiled. “There’s a lot of things I can do, my lad, which you don’t know yet. Now, don’t let’s have any more of this tomfoolery! You can’t marry my butler’s niece, and if you don’t know it you ought to! I see what’s happened: the girl’s been playing you on the end of her line, and she’s made you think you’ll only get her by putting a ring on her finger. Don’t you believe it! There’s no need to tie yourself up for the sake of a little love-making. If she’s so high in her notions, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Come to that, I’d as soon you left her alone. Reuben won’t like it if you mess about with her, and I don’t want to upset the old fellow. Damn it, we were boys together!”