"She may love you still," persisted the other.
"Woman's love! I was right in the old days. It's all a matter of price; only I made a mistake about the price. I didn't reckon upon a woman's vanity—that's all."
"Well, let us meet facts fairly. It was natural that she should be mad. When a high-minded girl like Miss Castlemaine——"
"High-minded! Don't talk such drivel."
"Yes, I repeat, high-minded. When she is told that the engagement was a matter of a wager, and when, after the wedding-day was fixed, you admitted that it was still a matter of winning the wager, then——"
"What are you driving at? I say, I'll kick up a row about the management of this club. That whisky has been ordered at least three minutes, and it's not brought yet."
"I'm driving at this. She was mad, and her madness was justifiable, but by to-morrow she'll have calmed down. I told you it was too soon for you to send that letter. If I were you I'd go down again to-morrow, and I'll warrant she'll be in a different frame of mind."
Winfield was wanting to gain time. He knew that if the whisky came while Leicester was in his present mood, nothing would stop him from fulfilling his threat.
"She returned my letter unopened. She did not deign to read a word."
"Yes, and it was quite natural; but give her breathing space, old man. She's a proud girl, you know that, and well—she would not listen to reason. But through to-night she'll be lonely. She'll be thinking of the past. She'll recall many things which hadn't occurred to her in her anger. To-morrow, mark my word, she'll be longing to see you."