“If you’ve come to ask a retraction,” he declared ungraciously, “I’ve none to offer. I meant all I said.”
The visitor stood inside the door calmly eyeing the man who was his own company commander.
“I didn’t come to insist on apologies,” he replied after a moment’s silence with an off-hand easiness of tone. “That can wait till you’ve gotten over your tantrum. It was another thing that brought me.”
“I want to be left alone.”
“Aside from the uncomplimentary features of your tirade,” went on Spurrier placidly and he strolled around the table and seated himself on the window sill, “there was a germ of truth in what you said. We’ve been playing too steep a game.” He paused and the other man who remained standing by his table, as though he did not wish to encourage his visitor by seating himself, responded only with a short, ironic laugh.
“See here, Comyn,” Spurrier’s voice labored now with evident embarrassment. “What I’m getting at is this: I don’t want your IOU for that game. I simply want you to forget it.”
But the captain took an angry step forward.
“Do you think I’m a charity patient?” he demanded, as his temper again mounted to storm pressure. “Why, damn your impertinence, I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you in my quarters!”
Spurrier slipped from his seat and an angry flush spread to his cheek bones.