“I’ll tell you a secret, Constantine,” said Stavros, as he leaned across and spoke in the subdued tone of confidence. “That Oïdas is an unconscionable blackguard. You always thought it, I know, and you were right.”
Selaka, perfectly conscious that he had never imparted any such opinion of Oïdas to Stavros, blinked uneasily, and took upon himself the air of full admission.
“You found him out?” he interrogated, cautiously.
“I should think so,” Stavros exclaimed, waving his hand comprehensively. “But there are limits to my endurance. I am going to throw him over. I have compromised myself by being mixed up with such a fellow. He has money—and he makes no scruple of his use of it.”
“You showed a fine tolerance, too, my friend.”
It still made Constantine sore to reflect that his closest friend had been bought over by the richer man.
“No, truly. You are quite in error. It was not the money, but I thought I could do so much better for my family. You see, Constantine, a man must hold no private feelings in abeyance when the interests of the family call upon him to silence them. You cannot have imagined our quarrel was not a cause of real distress to me. But now we are good friends, eh?”
“That depends. Why do you dislike Oïdas?”
“Oh, for several reasons. He behaved like a villain all round to me, to you and to your family. I mean to expose him. He promised to make room for us at the University and to get my son that post I have so long coveted for him. He has not fulfilled a single obligation he contracted with me. I had much better have trusted to you. You are not rich, and the golden mist through which he shines dazzled me. I did not expect him to come to me direct, and to sue me with soft talk. We all do the best we can for ourselves, Constantine, and often the best is barren of result.”
“Well, I don’t want to be hard on you now that you have come to see your error. You have thrown him over then?”