“You haven’t hesitated to call me names, Gordon. You’re not my build or my age, and I can’t thrash you.”
And his host said cheerfully: “Oh, yes, you can; come on and try,” and, metaphorically speaking, Dan struck his first blow:
“They say—people have said to me—that you once cared for Lily yourself.”
The Englishman’s heavy eyelids did not flicker. “It’s quite true.”
Taken back by this frank response, Blair stammered: “Well, I guess that explains everything. It’s not surprising that you should feel as you do. If you are jealous, I can forgive it a little bit, but it is low down to call a woman a fortune hunter.”
Now Gordon Galorey’s face changed and grew slightly white. “Don’t make me angry, my dear chap,” he said in a low tone; “I have said what I wanted to say. Now, go to the devil if you like and as soon as you like.”
And the boy said hotly, stammering in his excitement:
“Not yet—not yet—not before I tell you what I think.”
Gordon, with wonderful control of his own anger, met the boy’s eyes, and said with great patience:
“No, don’t, Dan; don’t go on. There are many things in this affair that we can’t touch upon. Let it drop. The right woman would make a ripping man of you, but you oughtn’t to marry for ten years.”