“My God!” said Farquhar, “and it’s the truth!”
Lucian got up, went into his own room, and shut himself in. An instant later there shone again the lighted parallelogram of the open doorway with his figure black against it, as he came stoically back to his place on the bed. Farquhar said through the darkness, “I’ll be damned if you shall get her.”
“I’ll be damned if you shall,” Lucian answered.
Truth cleared the air, as it generally does. They had been in deadly jealousy the minute before, but now a spirit of Christian charity fell upon them.
“She’s safe to choose you,” Lucian argued. “She’s as ambitious as she can stand, and look at me! I don’t know which is more invalid, my health or my prospects.”
“Well, I won’t be taken for my money. You see here: didn’t you say you could model and carve? I’ve just bought a granite-quarry in the Ardennes, and I’ll put you in as managing partner, and in three months you’ll be talking differently.”
“I bet you a shilling you’ll go bankrupt if you do!”
“Betting’s contrary to Christian principles.”
They both laughed, and then Lucian said: “Seems to me you rather enjoy shamming virtuous, you consummate old humbug!”
“I do; hadn’t you found that out?”