Hughie leaned against the tall mantelpiece and dropped his head upon his arms. "Joey! Joey!" he murmured to himself, very softly.
Jimmy Marrable retired to a remote corner of the room, where he spent some time selecting a cigar from Jack Leroy's private locker. Presently he returned. Observing that his nephew was apparently not quite ready to resume the conversation, he spent some time in lighting the cigar, bridging over the silence with a rumbling soliloquy.
"It is a blessing to be back on dry land again," he observed, "where cigars will keep in decent condition. No more green weeds for me! What I like is a good crisp Havana that splits open if you squeeze the end, instead of—"
Hughie once more stood erect on the hearthrug. The fit had passed.
Jimmy Marrable eyed him curiously.
"Hughie, boy," he said, "it was a mad, mad scheme. Why did you do it?"
Hughie turned upon him, and blazed out suddenly.
"Why?" he cried. "Because there was nothing else to do! Do you think I would let our Joey—no, damn it! my Joey—go out as a governess or a chorus-girl—yes, she actually suggested that!—when I could keep her happy and comfortable by telling one little white lie? It may have been a mad thing to do; but it was a choice of evils, and I'd do it again! So stuff that up your cigar and smoke it!"
"Silly young owl!" remarked Jimmy Marrable. He lit his cigar with fastidious care, and continued:—
"I suppose you want an explanation from me now?"