"Which was—" insistently.
Sidwell hesitated, his new-found confidence vanishing like the smoke from his cigar. But there was no escape.
"The reason, she said, was because you were—minus a pedigree."
The last words dropped like a bomb in the midst of the room. Ben Blair swiftly rose from his seat. The negro's eyes rolled around in search of some place of concealment. With a protesting movement Hough was on his feet.
"Gentlemen!" he implored. "Gentlemen!"
But the intervention was unnecessary. Ben Blair had settled back in his seat. Once more his hands were on the chair-arms.
"Do you," he insinuated gently, "consider the reason she gave an adequate one? Do you consider that it had any rightful place in the discussion?"
The question, seemingly simple, was hard to answer. An affirmative trembled on the city man's tongue. He realized it was his opportunity for a crushing rejoinder. But cold blue eyes were upon him and the meaning of their light was only too clear.
"I can understand the lady's point of view," he said evasively.
Ben Blair leaned forward, the great muscles of his jaw and temples tightening beneath the skin.