“I should think not.”
There was a pause, during which Crofter sculled on. Then he said,—
“Tempest and I don’t hit it, somehow. He doesn’t like me, does he?”
“Well—no, I don’t fancy he does,” I admitted.
“I dare say he advises you to fight shy of me, and that sort of thing, eh?”
This was awkward; but I could not well get out of it.
“Yes.”
Crofter laughed sweetly.
“I wish he’d let me be friends. I hate to see a fellow coming to grief, and not be allowed to give him a leg-up.”
“Tempest’s not coming to grief,” said I.