"You thought you had got all you could out of her—and that was the fact. You thought she was poor; and you find that she has made a good investment—with her own private funds, mark you,—and she is therefore not poor, but rather the reverse. Where's your quarrel with that?"
"I am entitled to my share in her investment."
"Oh, bosh! That's simply absurd."
Marsden was standing up, resting his red hands on the back of a chair. Now he moved the chair to Mr. Prentice's end of the table, sat down, and spoke in an eager whisper.
"Prentice, hostile or not, you are honest. I call on you to see fair play. She can't do this, can she?"
"She has done it," said Prentice feebly.
"But tell her it isn't fair. She knows you're straight, and above board. It's all mighty fine to bowl me out—and perhaps you don't think I deserve any pity. But still, speak for me. She can't round on me like this—she can't say 'Your firm is killed, and I've transferred myself across the road to the firm that killed it.' Surely the law wouldn't allow her to spoof me like that?"
But sharp-eared Mr. Collins had heard the whisper.
"Prentice, don't answer him. Mr. Marsden, I'll answer that question. I answer for the law. I am your wife's legal adviser in all this. Please address me, sir."
Marsden turned with a final burst of fierce rage.