“Luke Claridge is dead,” he answered sharply. “But you will tell—him, you will write to Egypt and tell your brother?” she said, the conviction slowly coming to her that he would not.
“It is not my duty to displace myself, to furnish evidence against myself—”
“You have destroyed the evidence,” she intervened, a little scornfully.
“If there were no more than that—” He shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
“Do you know there is more?” she asked searchingly. “In whose interests are you speaking?” he rejoined, with a sneer. A sudden fury possessed him. Claridge Pasha—she was thinking of him!
“In yours—your conscience, your honour.”
“There is over thirty years’ possession on my side,” he rejoined.
“It is not as if it were going from your family,” she argued.
“Family—what is he to me!”
“What is any one to you?” she returned bitterly.