"Then why not tell all this to Freddy Treving?" she asked.
The lines about his mouth tightened.
"Treving," he said with an affectation of simplicity, "came into the club while I was talking with Ross. He had been drinking—a great deal. I didn't realize it at first—it's quite necessary you should hear this—so I took him out in the hall and tried to talk to him reasonably. I told him it must stop—any friendship between him and you."
She glanced up tempestuously.
"I'll not have my friendships questioned."
"I'm sorry, Bella. You've placed this one beyond your own control. You made me speak to Treving. It was the only thing to do. And he was impertinent, defiant. As I told you, he had been drinking, but that didn't explain his astounding assurance. I don't want to do you an injustice, but I couldn't help fearing his confidence was based on an understanding with you."
"John! You're mad!"
"No. I think it's Treving who's a little mad as well as drunk."
He studied her face morosely.
"I told him, if I heard of his coming near you again or communicating with you in any way, I would thrash him within an inch of his life. Bella, he laughed at me."