"Will you drop all such honeyed phrases, Peter Trevisa," I said angrily. "I know you lent money to my father on Trevanion. I know I have been a fool since I came into possession. Last night I lost my head. Well, Prideaux shall be paid, and you will take the rest. I quite expect this, and am prepared for it."
"Prideaux has been paid," laughed the old man.
"In cash?"
"Aye, that he has."
"Who paid him?"
"I did."
"Oh, I see. You wanted the bone all to yourself, did you," I cried angrily. "Well, some dogs are like that. But it makes no difference to me. Do your worst."
"You remember this," he said, holding up the piece of paper I had given to Prideaux the night before.
"I was mad when I wrote it," I replied, "but I remember it well. How did it come into your hands?"
"Prideaux has very fine notions about honour," remarked old Peter. "He did not like taking advantage of it, and yet he knew that you as a Trevanion would insist on his doing so."