"I could have killed him," Mark repeated sombrely. "You know, Jim, what Archie was to me at Harrow—and long afterwards?"
"The greatest thing on earth," said Jim. "I used to be awfully jealous."
"I loved him for his beauty," said Mark drearily, "for his strength and for his weakness. I loved him the more because in some small ways I could help him. I grudged him nothing—I swear it!—nothing, nothing, except Betty. I could have let her go to you or Harry Kirtling; but to him who had all I had not, my b-b-brother——"
His stammer seized him, and he trembled violently.
"We'll drop it," exclaimed Jim. He had turned away from Mark's eyes, reading in them the hate which was not yet controlled. "You don't feel—er—that way towards her?"
"Never, never!" His eyes softened at once; then he broke out abruptly: "What made her take him?" It was out at last. He expected no answer from his friend, but Jim said simply: "Surely you know?"
"It's darkest mystery."
"Why, man, she told me that he dragged her out of the depths." Jim repeated what Betty had said. "You know what women are. A petticoat flutters naturally towards a parson whenever the wind blows. That did me. I couldn't promise to personally conduct her to—Heaven. Yes, his sermons, particularly that Windsor sermon, captured her."
"The Windsor sermon! You say the Windsor s-s-sermon?" Mark stuttered out.
"Yes, the Windsor sermon. I'm told it was wonderful. He's a bit of a prig, but he can preach, and no mistake! Why, look here! Have you seen this? Out this morning!"