"I understand all right," shouted David; "a man don't need much breedin' of any kind to understand the likes o' you—you want a man that's lost all he's got, to sell himself into the bargain," the withered cheek burning hot as David made his arraignment.
"Now, Mr. Borland, do be reasonable—I mean nothing of the sort. I only wanted to give you a helping hand—of course, if you can do without it——"
"Yes, thank God," and David's voice was quite shaky, "I can do without it all right. I can do without your dirty money—-an' everybody else's for that matter—but I can't do without a conscience that ain't got no blot on it, an' I can't do without a clean name like my father left it to me," he went hotly on, his flushed face and swift-swallowing throat attesting how deeply he felt what he was saying.
"Oh, come now, Borland," Mr. Craig urged, reaching out a hand towards his shoulder, "come off your high horse—preachin' isn't your strong point, you know."
"I ain't preachin'," David retorted vigorously. "I'm practisin'—an' that's a horse of a different colour," he added, casting about to recall the amiability that had almost vanished.
"There's no need for any trouble between us, Borland," Mr. Craig began blandly; "'twouldn't be seemly, considering all that's liable to happen—if things go on as they're likely to," he added significantly. "We'll need to be on the best of terms if we're going to be relations, you know."
"What's that you're sayin'?—relations, did you say?" David was quite at a loss to understand, and yet a dim fear, suggested not so long before, passed for a moment through his mind.
"Yes, relations," returned Mr. Craig, smiling amiably; "these young folks have a way of making people relations without consulting them—at least, till they've gone and settled it themselves. I guess you understand all right."
A hot flush flowed over David's cheek. "Do you—do you mean my Madeline?" he stammered, staring like one who did not see.
"Well, maybe—but I mean my Cecil just as much. All this won't make any difference to Cecil."