He was gone, and the two younger men faced each other. It is safe to say that Jordan Tant had always at the back of his mind one thought dominating all others; the thought of Enid. The fact that Byfield had gruffly refused even to consider the suggestion that the house should be lent to her and her mother set the man's wits to work; the fact that another man who obviously lived in Arcadia Street knew all about the strange occupants of that house at Fiddler's Green stirred into being a process commonly known as "putting two and two together." Mr. Jordan Tant did some hard thinking.
"Please explain to Mrs. Ewart-Crane why I can't let her have the house—and make my apologies!" said Gilbert after a pause.
"I will certainly do that—when I know what to say," said Tant, putting his head on one side, and looking at his friend with a smile. "My dear Gilbert—who have you been giving away your property to?"
"I have not been giving it away at all," retorted Gilbert. "I've simply lent the house to some friends. Say no more about it."
Mr. Jordan Tant said no more about it. After an awkward pause he made a remark, which in the connection was certainly startling. "By the way, Gilbert, I noticed as I came into this house that your little friend next door—the Princess, as you called her—has flitted."
Byfield, startled, swung round upon him. "And pray what the devil do you think that's got to do with Fiddler's Green?" he demanded savagely.
Jordan Tant fairly leapt in his astonishment. "Really—I never said—— Why, Gilbert—you don't mean to say that you've sent her down to Fiddler's Green?"
All this interference with what he had come to regard as his private plans began to have a maddening effect upon Gilbert Byfield. He had savagely to acknowledge to himself that he had failed; that that impulsive generosity of which he had been guilty had been taken advantage of by those in whose hands he was practically powerless. The thought of that did not tend to mend his temper; and Tant was a handy victim. Byfield squared his shoulders, and set his hands on his hips, and gazed down at the shrinking little man with blazing eyes.
"And suppose I have sent her to Fiddler's Green—and suppose I intend to keep her there just as long as it pleases me—what then, my Tant?" he bellowed. "What do you, in your secure and comfortable life, hedged about by every conventionality, and not daring to stir by so much as a hair's breadth from that line you so often draw and so often talk about—what do you know of the world and the people who live in it? Can't a man stretch out the hand of friendship to a woman without your smug lips opening, and your smooth tongue beginning to bleat this and that and the other? Must you always think that we're in this world only to do wrong—that there are no better impulses in any one of us? I'll tell you now in so many words: the child of the white face and the shabby frock is down at Fiddler's Green at my expense—and she's having a holiday. Have you anything to say to that?"
Jordan Tant backed away from him, and waved him off with protesting hands. "My dear Byfield—I have not said a word about it; it's not my business," he pleaded. "You have always been in the habit of doing unconventional things, and I suppose you will do them until the end of the chapter; but I am not criticizing. It's very kind of you—very thoughtful—and all that sort of thing. Necessarily one wonders a little what the world will say—and one is a little sorry for the girl, who is doubtless quite respectable—in her own sphere of life—and quite nice."