To me his manner was more terrible than if he had broken out into torrents of passion and abuse. At the sight of his face that moment my treachery and sin appeared suddenly in their true light before my eyes. I had been false to my best friend, and more than false.
Who could tell if I had not ruined him? Vain and selfish fool that I had been! Always thinking what others would think of me, and never how best I could help him in his gallant struggle against his evil destiny.
I rushed wildly from the office after him, and overtook him on the stairs.
“Oh, Jack,” I cried, “it really wasn’t my—oh! I’m so dreadfully sorry, Jack! If you’ll only let me explain, I can—”
He was gone. The door shut-to suddenly in my face, leaving me alone with my misery, and shutting out my one hope of recovering my only friend.
I returned miserable to the office—miserable and savage. Though I knew I had only myself to blame for what had happened, I was fain to vent my anger on the cowardly set who had used my secret against my friend. But when I tried to speak the words would not come. I locked up my desk dejectedly, and without a word to any one, and heedless of the looks and titters that followed me, walked from the place.
Half way down the street I became aware of a footstep following hurriedly, as if to overtake me. Could it be Jack? Was there yet a chance? No, it was Hawkesbury.
“Oh, Batchelor,” he said, “I am so sorry. It’s most unfortunate the way it came out, isn’t it?”
I made no answer, and drew my arm out of his.
“Harris is such a short-tempered fellow,” he went on, not noticing my manner, “but I never thought he would go as far as he did. I assure you, Batchelor, when I heard it, I felt quite as sorry as you did.”