“But I have no wife,” Sheldon interrupted.
“Then you ought to have. The situation is outrageous. You might at least marry her, as I am honourably willing to do.”
For the first time Sheldon’s rising anger boiled over.
“You—” he began violently, then abruptly caught control of himself and went on soothingly, “you’d better take a drink and think it over. That’s my advice to you. Of course, when you do get cool, after talking to me in this fashion you won’t want to stay on any longer, so while you’re getting that drink I’ll call the boat’s-crew and launch a boat. You’ll be in Tulagi by eight this evening.”
He turned toward the door, as if to put his words into execution, but the other caught him by the shoulder and twirled him around.
“Look here, Sheldon, I told you the Solomons were too small for the pair of us, and I meant it.”
“Is that an offer to buy Berande, lock, stock, and barrel?” Sheldon queried.
“No, it isn’t. It’s an invitation to fight.”
“But what the devil do you want to fight with me for?” Sheldon’s irritation was growing at the other’s persistence. “I’ve no quarrel with you. And what quarrel can you have with me? I have never interfered with you. You were my guest. Miss Lackland is my partner. If you saw fit to make love to her, and somehow failed to succeed, why should you want to fight with me? This is the twentieth century, my dear fellow, and duelling went out of fashion before you and I were born.”
“You began the row,” Tudor doggedly asserted. “You gave me to understand that it was time for me to go. You fired me out of your house, in short. And then you have the cheek to want to know why I am starting the row. It won’t do, I tell you. You started it, and I am going to see it through.”