"You are a very young man, sir," answered Thurston, coldly, "and closely connected with my wife and her family, otherwise I should consider this a piece of impertinence."
"I don't mean it in that way. I'm square and above board, and I hate anything clandestine. This is a case of a husband and wife, and another man who loves her. I'm the other man. Now kick me out."
"I should assuredly do so, if you were an Englishman. But in your case I will only beg you to explain your meaning—I am always willing to learn." He felt obliged to take Glen seriously, yet he was conscious of feeling amused, in spite of his suffering.
"Er—have a cigarette?" asked Glen, offering his case. Though he had been braced with confidence when he entered, he felt now very much embarrassed and at a disadvantage. "Indiana won't be likely to come in, will she? I hope she's safe in bed."
"No, it's not likely," answered Thurston, evasively, taking a cigarette, which he omitted to light.
"I want to keep her out of it, if I can," said Glen. He leaned back in his chair, smoking. "I'm not much of a talker, and this helps me." He puffed furiously. "But I'm a great thinker. I've lived alone a considerable part of my life, and my way of doing things may not be considered strictly constitutional. However, that don't say I'm wrong."
"Not at all," Thurston assured him.
"Do you believe that the pursuit of happiness is the highest aim of life?" asked Glen, in a very important manner.
"That depends whose happiness a man is pursuing. You are evidently after mine."
"Ha, ha! Very good. But I mean, is making others happy the highest aim?"