Maynard sank back in his chair, amazed.
“You!” he murmured, faintly. “You! God bless my soul!”
Durham’s small, steely, grey eyes sparkled with a monkeyish glitter.
“Well, what now?” he demanded. “Why do you cry out ‘God bless my soul’ as if I had sent a bullet through you? I say I could do the falling in love business better than Craig—”
Dr. Maynard lifted a hand and pointed a shaking finger at him.
“That’s just what Craig told me!” he faltered. “And he said you were doing it!”
“He did, did he?” and Durham’s rather sallow countenance reddened. “Damn his impudence!”
Old Maynard looked at him protestingly.
“Don’t—don’t be violent!” he said, anxiously. “It’s bad for you! We are both old men—”
“And don’t we know it?” snapped out Durham raspily. “But we needn’t dwell on the fact! There’s a third old man who is older than either of us—”