"Your what? Your wife? Are you married to her already, and do you want me to break it to the old gentleman? What kind of a character is he? Shall I go armed?"
"She is not my wife, thank God! If she were—"
"For heaven's sake, Harold, explain yourself. Can it be possible that
Miss Penrhyn is like too many other women?"
Dartmouth sprang to his feet, his face white to the lips.
"How dare you say such a thing?" he exclaimed. "If it were any other man but you, I'd blow out his brains."
Hollington got up from the chair he had taken and, grasping Dartmouth by the shoulders, threw him back into his chair.
"Now look here, Harold," he said; "let us have no more damned nonsense. If you will indulge in lugubrious hints which have but one meaning, you must expect the consequences. I refuse to listen to another word unless you come out and speak plain English."
He resumed his seat, and Dartmouth clasped his hands behind his head and stared moodily at the fire. In a few moments he turned his eyes and fixed them on Hollington.
"Very well," he said, "I will tell you the whole story from beginning to end. Heaven knows it is a relief to speak; but if you laugh, I believe I shall kill you."
"I will not laugh," said Hollington. "Whatever it is, I see it has gone hard with you."