Sheldon smiled tolerantly and proceeded to light a cigarette. But Tudor was not to be turned aside.
“You started this row,” he urged.
“There isn’t any row. It takes two to make a row, and I, for one, refuse to have anything to do with such tomfoolery.”
“You started it, I say, and I’ll tell you why you started it.”
“I fancy you’ve been drinking,” Sheldon interposed. “It’s the only explanation I can find for your unreasonableness.”
“And I’ll tell you why you started it. It wasn’t silliness on your part to exaggerate this little trifle of love-making into something serious. I was poaching on your preserves, and you wanted to get rid of me. It was all very nice and snug here, you and the girl, until I came along. And now you’re jealous—that’s it, jealousy—and want me out of it. But I won’t go.”
“Then stay on by all means. I won’t quarrel with you about it. Make yourself comfortable. Stay for a year, if you wish.”
“She’s not your wife,” Tudor continued, as though the other had not spoken. “A fellow has the right to make love to her unless she’s your—well, perhaps it was an error after all, due to ignorance, perfectly excusable, on my part. I might have seen it with half an eye if I’d listened to the gossip on the beach. All Guvutu and Tulagi were laughing about it. I was a fool, and I certainly made the mistake of taking the situation on its assumed innocent face-value.”
So angry was Sheldon becoming that the face and form of the other seemed to vibrate and oscillate before his eyes. Yet outwardly Sheldon was calm and apparently weary of the discussion.
“Please keep her out of the conversation,” he said.