He seemed half to expect me, and the old friendly look was back in his face as he saw me enter.
“I’m sorry I offended you yesterday, Tempest,” said I.
“I fancied it was I offended you,” said he; “but I couldn’t stand seeing you in that cad’s clutches.”
“Is he really a cad, then?” I asked.
“You don’t suppose I asked you into my boat for fun, do you?” said he shortly.
I went on for some time with my work, and then said,—
“Would you like to know what he was saying about you?”
“Not a bit,” said he, so decisively that I relapsed again into silence.
“Look here, kid,” said he, presently, and with unwonted seriousness. “I’m not a saint, and don’t profess to be. And I may not be able to manage my own affairs, to judge by what you and half a dozen other of the fellows seem to think; but I don’t want to see you—well, come to grief—and that’s what you’re likely to do if you let that fellow get hold of you.”
“He’s not got hold of me,” said I, feeling a little hurt once more. “Mayn’t I be civil to a fellow, even? Why, he was saying if you—”