“Why? What makes you think so.”
“I don’t know. Something reluctant in your manner when he’s in question.”
“Really. My manner! I don’t think he’s a great subject for conversation, perhaps. Why not drop him?”
“Of course! You wouldn’t confess to a mistake. Not you. Nevertheless I have my suspicions about it.”
Renouard got up to go, but hesitated, looking down at the seated Editor.
“How funny,” he said at last with the utmost seriousness, and was making for the door, when the voice of his friend stopped him.
“You know what has been said of you? That you couldn’t get on with anybody you couldn’t kick. Now, confess—is there any truth in the soft impeachment?”
“No,” said Renouard. “Did you print that in your paper.”
“No. I didn’t quite believe it. But I will tell you what I believe. I believe that when your heart is set on some object you are a man that doesn’t count the cost to yourself or others. And this shall get printed some day.”
“Obituary notice?” Renouard dropped negligently.