Stephen’s scowl deepened. He thrust his hands into his pocket, and shifted his feet uneasily.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “People don’t do things here as they do where you come from.”
“I understand that, all right,” with dry emphasis. “I’ve been here long enough to understand that. But maybe I don’t understand you. Heave ahead, and make it plain.”
“Well—well, then—I mean this: I don’t know that Mal was after Caro’s money, but—but he had a right to expect some. If he didn’t, why, then her not telling him until after they were married wouldn’t have made any difference. And—and if her tellin’ him beforehand should make a difference and he wanted to break the engagement, she’s just romantic fool enough to let him.”
“Well?”
“Well? If she doesn’t marry him, who’s going to take care of her? What’s going to become of me? We haven’t a cent. What kind of a guardian are you? Do you want us to starve?”
He was shouting again. The captain was calm. “Oh,” he said, “I guess it won’t reach to the starvation point. I’m a pretty tough old critter, ’cordin’ to your estimate, but I shouldn’t let my brother’s children starve. If the wust comes to the wust, there’s always a home and plenty to eat for you both at South Denboro.”
This offer did not appear to comfort the young gentleman greatly. His disgust was evident.
“South Denboro!” he repeated, scornfully. “Gad!... South Denboro!”
“Yup. But we’ll let South Denboro alone for now and stick to New York. What is it you expect me to do? What are you drivin’ at?”