His fathoming, and yet unfathomable, manner was disconcerting, but Herriard stood to his point. “We seem to have been out of agreement lately,” he said.
“In one matter.”
“A very important one—to me, at least.”
Gastineau gave a little nod, and then a sneering smile spread over his pale face. “You mean you feel you can run alone,” he suggested, “that you can get on without me?”
The tone was so cutting that it forced Herriard to reply warmly. “That is very far from being the reason. I am sorry that you should impute such a motive to me.”
Gastineau laughed, still sneering. “I don’t know that I should blame you,” he said. “When a man feels his feet, the arm that has kept him up in deep water becomes an encumbrance.”
“You are utterly mistaken in the motive of my suggestion,” Herriard protested. “You have no cause to charge me with such rank ingratitude as that would be. The fact that I owe every step of my position to you makes me very unwilling to propose that we should work together no longer. Yet for some time past I have felt that our partnership must come to an end.”
“I can hardly offer any effective objection,” Gastineau replied, still with the suggestion of a little quiet scorn. “I am in your hands.” There was a subtle touch of irony in the words. “But even now you have not given me any adequate reason for the step, and it seems to me that I have at least a moral right to expect one.”
The whole reason could scarcely be given, and the half seemed absurdly weak and inadequate. Still Herriard tried to make the most of it. “The reason,” he answered, “is surely obvious. Our difference of opinion respecting the woman who is to be my wife.”
Gastineau gave a shrug and a laugh. “May difference of opinion—— You are taking the expression of mine very seriously, my dear Geof.”