There ensued a short, sharp colloquy—Henry insisting upon being released from his promise; George Prattleton, whom the suggestion had startled nearly out of his senses, refusing to allow him to divulge anything.
"She'll not get her cause," said Henry, "unless I speak. It will be awfully unjust."
"You'll just keep your tongue quiet, Arkell. What is it to you? The Carr folks are not your friends or relatives."
"If I were to let the trial go against her, for the want of telling the truth, I should have it on my conscience always."
"My word!" cried George Prattleton, "a schoolboy with a conscience! I never knew they were troubled with any."
"Will you release me from my promise of not speaking?"
"Not if you go down on your knees for it. What a green fellow you are!"
"Then I shall speak without."
"You won't," cried Prattleton.
"I will. I gave the promise only conditionally, remember; and, as things are turning out, I am under no obligation to keep it. But I would not speak without asking your consent first, whether I got it or not."