"No, not for a moment."
"I'm glad to hear that, because I shouldn't think of doing it. I mean to go on asking her, over and over again, until she accepts me."
"And so do I," cried Gerrard, starting up, stung out of his usual quietness of manner. They glared at each other angrily for a moment, then Charteris laughed rather unsteadily.
"Basis for an agreement is rather wanting, ain't it? I regard you as a person of ordinary sanity, so I don't imagine you were going to propose either that I should nobly resign her in your favour, or you in mine. Then what on earth is there left to do?"
"We have to think of her as well as ourselves," said Gerrard, trying to steady his voice. "She may not marry at all, as she said"—Charteris snorted—"or she may marry some one else, neither of us. And I am sure we should both rather see her married to some one else, and happy, than marry her ourselves and know that she wasn't happy."
The construction of the sentence was involved, but its meaning was clear. Charteris flung up his head contemptuously. "You're wrong there," he said. "Speak for yourself. I want to see her married to me, and I'd undertake to make her happy. I shall be an uncommon good husband, I can tell you. What are you laughing at, pray?"
"I'm not laughing—at least, not exactly," gasped Gerrard, restraining himself with difficulty. "Forgive me, old fellow. It was the picture of you saying to the future Mrs Charteris, 'Be happy, or I'll know the reason why,' that overcame me."
Charteris looked deeply offended, but after a moment joined in the laugh. "Of course I know I can't put it pretty, as you could," he admitted grudgingly. "But I mean to marry her, and make her happy too."
"And so do I," said Gerrard again. "But it's quite clear she can't marry both of us, and mayn't marry either of us, ain't it? Well, what I say is, let us carry the affair through decently, so that the best man may win, if either of us wins at all. That appeals to you, doesn't it?"
"Not a bit," said Charteris promptly. "You are the best man."