“He’s a very good fellow,” said Waterville.
“Then go and talk to him.”
“Play the part of Olivier de Jalin? Oh I can’t. I’m not Olivier. But I think I do wish he’d corner me of himself. Mrs. Headway oughtn’t really to be allowed to pass.”
“I wish to heaven they’d let me alone,” Littlemore murmured ruefully and staring a while out of the window.
“Do you still hold to that theory you propounded in Paris? Are you willing to commit perjury?” Waterville asked.
“Assuredly I can refuse to answer questions—even that one.”
“As I told you before, that will amount to a condemnation.”
Longmore frowningly debated. “It may amount to what it pleases. I guess I’ll go back to Paris.”
“That will be the same as not answering. But it’s quite the best thing you can do. I’ve really been thinking it out,” Waterville continued, “and I don’t hold that from the point of view of social good faith she’s an article we ought to contribute—!” He looked at the matter clearly now from a great elevation; his tone, the expression of his face, betrayed this lofty flight; the effect of which, as he glanced down at his didactic young friend, Littlemore found peculiarly irritating.
He shifted about. “No, after all, hanged if they shall drive me away!” he exclaimed abruptly; and he walked off while his companion wondered.