"You did—almost. You were going to, anyway. So that was it, was it? That was when you realised a few things—understood one or two things; was it not? . . . And how did you reply? Arrogantly, I suppose."
"Yes."
"With—a—some little show of—a—contempt?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Exactly. And Neergard—was put out—slightly?"
"Yes," said the boy, losing some of his colour. "I—a moment afterward I was sorry I had spoken so plainly; but I need not have been. . . . He was very ugly about it."
"Threats of calling loans?" asked Selwyn, smiling.
"Hints; not exactly threats. I was in a bad way, too—" The boy winced and swallowed hard; then, with sudden white desperation stamped on his drawn face: "Oh, Philip—it—it is disgraceful enough—but how am I going to tell you the rest?—how can I speak of this matter to you—"
"What matter?"
"A—about—about Mrs. Ruthven—"