"Are you—jealous? Do you fancy Sylvia would be affected by anything you'd do or say? See here! Good God! Are you mad enough to look at her? That's funny! That's a scream!"
There was, however, no conviction behind the pretended amazement and contempt; and George suspected that Dalrymple had all along sounded his chief ambition; had, in fact, made his secretive announcement just now, because, his judgment drugged, he had desired to call a rival's attention to his triumphant posture on the steps of attainment.
"I've no intention of discussing causes," George answered, evenly, "but I do imagine the entire family would be noticeably affected by my story."
"Which you couldn't tell," Dalrymple cried. "Which you couldn't possibly tell."
"Which I don't think I shall have to tell," George said with a smile. "Look at your position, Dalrymple. If you borrow money on the strength of this approaching marriage you announce its chief purpose quite distinctly. I fancy Old Planter, ill as he is, would want to take a club to you. You've always wished, haven't you, to keep your borrowings from Lambert? You can't do it if you persist in involving the Planters in your extravagances. And remember you gave me a pretty thorough list of your debtors—not reading for women, but Lambert would understand, and make its meaning clear. Then let us go back to that afternoon in my office, when you tried to say unspeakable things——"
Impulsively Dalrymple bared his teeth.
"Got you there, Morton! I told Lambert it was you who had been impertinent——"
All at once George felt better and cleaner. He whistled.
"When I let you off then I never dreamed you'd try to back that lie up."
"Will they believe me," the other asked, "or you, who come from God knows what; God knows where?"