"About the only friend I have left," said Anthony, with bitterness.
"Fox is not the man I would choose if I had the selection," said Julian. "I should know him better than most, as he is my brother—that is to say, my half-brother. I thank God—only my half-brother. Take heed to yourself, Anthony, that he does not play you a scurvy trick."
"What can he do?"
"You are generous and forgiving. Fox is neither. He has not forgiven you that blow with the glove that injured his eye."
"You wrong him, Julian."
"All I can say to you is—do not trust him. I never—never trust him. If he says one thing he means the contrary. Did he tell you that he went to Hall with the end of persuading your father to forgive you?"
"He did not even mention to me that he saw my father often."
"Well," said Julian, drawing a long breath, "whilst we are together, which is not often now, not as it was, let us talk of matters more pleasant than the habits and ways of action of Fox."
"What shall we talk about?"