Seaforth was in no mood for laughter, but his eyes twinkled faintly.
"Two of them? You have been getting on tolerably fast down there,
Harry."
Alton stopped him with a gesture. "My temper's not what it was a few weeks ago," he said. "Now, you sit still and listen to me."
He had scarcely commenced his story when the smile died out of
Seaforth's eyes. He seemed to listen with breathless intentness, and
his voice shook a little as he said, "And you asked her to marry you.
Did you think for a moment that she would?"
Alton appeared to consider. "I didn't think at all," he said. "It seemed the one thing I could do, and I did it."
"The city hasn't made much difference in you," said Seaforth, watching his comrade intently. "It must have been a load off your mind when she refused you?"
Alton straightened himself a little. "I don't like the way you put it, Charley. Whoever gets Miss Townshead will have a treasure. The girl's good all through. Now I think I've told you everything, and I don't ask if you believe me."
There was a flicker of warmer colour under Seaforth's bronze, and a curious glint in his eyes.
"Yes," he said slowly; "I think she is too good even for you, and you have done all that any one could have expected of you, without keeping up the farce any longer. I am glad you did not ask if I believed you—because I could scarcely have forgiven you that question. Do you think I don't know—both of you—better?"
The last words were a trifle strained, and Alton stared at his comrade in bewildered astonishment, for Seaforth had betrayed himself in his passion. Then there was silence for a full minute until he said very quietly—
"And I never guessed."