'By Jove, St. Mabyn,' he cried, and I could see he was fighting for self-mastery; 'but you have played us a trick. Here have we all been wasting good honest grief on you. But—but—I am glad, old man. I—I——'
His speech ended in a gasp. His words seemed to be frozen by the cold glitter of Maurice St. Mabyn's eyes. Never in my whole life have I seen so much contempt, so much loathing in a man's face as I saw in the face of the new-comer at that moment. But he did not speak. He simply turned on his heel, and addressed Sir Thomas Bolivick.
'You seem surprised, and something more than surprised at seeing me,
Sir Thomas,' he said; 'but you are glad to see me, aren't you?'
'Glad!' cried the old man. 'Glad! Why, God bless my soul, Maurice!
I—I—but—but glad?'—and he began to mop his eyes vigorously.
'I think there'll be a lot of explanations by and by,' went on Maurice,' especially after I've had a chat with my old friend, Jack Carbis, over there. Jack, you rascal, you've a lot to tell me, haven't you? By the way, George,'—and he gave Springfield a glance,—'I understand that this fellow is a guest at St. Mabyn. Will you tell him, as you seem friendly with him, that my house is not good for his health.'
Springfield looked from one to another like a man in despair. The coming of Maurice St. Mabyn had been such a confirmation of all that Jack Carbis had said, that he saw no loophole of escape anywhere. But this was only for a moment. Even in his defeat the man's character as a fighter was evident.
'St. Mabyn,' he said hoarsely, 'I swear by Heaven that you are mistaken! Of course I was mistaken—and—and no one is gladder than I—that you have turned up. Give me fair play,—give me a chance—give me time, and I'll clear up everything!'
'Will you tell the fellow,' and Maurice St. Mabyn still spoke to his brother, 'that a motor-car will be placed at his disposal to take him to any place he chooses to go. Tell him, too, that I do not propose to—to have anything to do with him in any way unless he persists in hanging on to you; but that if he does, the War Office and the world shall know what he is, and what he has done.'
Still Springfield did not give in. He turned again to Lorna Bolivick, and as he did so I realized, as I never realized before, that the man really loved her. I believed then, as I believe now, that all his hopes, all his plottings, were centred in one desire, and that was to win the love of this girl.
'Miss Bolivick, Lorna,' he said hoarsely, 'you do not tell me to go, do you? You believe in me? I will admit that things look against me; but I swear to you that I am as innocent of their charges as you are; that—that——' He ceased speaking suddenly, as though his words were frozen on his lips, then he burst out like a man in agony, 'Why do you look at me like that?' he gasped.