"I understand."
"Well, why don't ye say something? Why don't ye tell me what I am? Say I'm a dirty sneak—call me a yeller cur—anything!"
"No, you were drunk, that's all; and when the drink is in, honour, and all that makes a man, is out—you were only drunk."
"Oh, but I wasn't s' drunk as all that," gasped Spike, cowering in his chair, "but he kep' on comin' at me with his questions, an' at last—when I told him how I met up with you—he kind o' give a jump—an' his face—" Spike clenched his fists and, slowly raising them, pressed them upon his eyes. "I'll never forget th' look on—his face! So now you know as I've blown th' game on ye—given ye away—you as was my friend!" With the word Spike sobbed and fell grovelling on his knees. "Curse me, Geoff!" he cried. "Oh, curse me, an' tell me what I am!"
"You are Hermione's brother!"
"My God!" wailed the boy. "If she knew, she'd hate me."
"I—almost think she would, Spike."
"You won't tell her, Geoff, you won't never let her know?"
"I—don't get drunk, Spike."
"But you won't tell her?" he pleaded, reaching out desperate hands, "you won't?"