“Do you mean”—Quarrier's voice was not his own, and he brought it harshly under command—“do you mean that you think it necessary for me to say I knew her? What object would be attained by that? I did not take her to the Patroons'.”
“Nor did I. Ask her how she got there. Learn the truth from her, man!”
“What proof is there that I ever met her before I took her into supper at Fleetwood's?”
“Proof! Are you mad? All I ask of you is to say to the governors what I cannot say without using your name.”
“You wish me,” asked Quarrier icily, “to deny that you made that wager? I can do that.”
“You can't do it! I did make that bet.”
“Oh! Then, what is it you wish me to say?”
“Tell them the truth. Tell them you know I did not take her to the club. You need not tell them why you know it. You need not tell them how much you know about her, whose brougham she drove home in. I can't defend myself at your expense—intrench myself behind your dirty little romance. What could I say? I denied taking her to the club. Then Major Belwether confronted me with my wager. Then I shut up. And so did you, Quarrier—so did you, seated there among the governors, between Leroy Mortimer and Belwether. It was up to you, and you did not stir!”
“Stir!” echoed the other man, exasperated. “Of course I did not stir. What did I know about it? Do you think I care to give a man like Mortimer a hold on me by admitting I knew anything?—or Belwether—do you think I care to have that man know anything about my private and personal business? Did you expect me to say that I was in a position to prove anything one way or another? And,” he added with increasing harshness, “how do you know what I might or might not prove? If she went to the Patroons Club, I did not go with her; I did not see her; I don't know whether or not you took her.”
“I have already told you that I did not take her,” said Siward, turning whiter.