"No; I don't doubt you, Ben," he said.
The thin face of the younger man leaned forward and grew more intense.
"You know what Sidwell is—what the result will be if Florence marries him?"
Scotty's head dropped into his hands. He knew what was coming.
"Yes, I know," he admitted.
Ben paused, and had the other been looking he would have seen that his ordinarily passive face was working in a way which no one would have thought possible.
"In heaven's name, then," he said, slowly, "why do you allow it? Have you forgotten that it is only three days until the date set? God! man, you must be sleeping! It is ghastly—even the thought of it!"
Surprised out of himself, Scotty looked up. The intensity of the appeal was a thing to put life into a figure of clay. For an instant he felt the stimulant, felt his blood quicken at the suggestion of action; then his impotence returned.
"I have tried, Ben," he explained weakly, "but I can do nothing. If I attempted to interfere it would only make matters worse. Florence is as completely out of my control as—" he paused for a simile—"as the sunshine. I missed my opportunity with her when she was young. She has always had her own way, and she will have it now. It is the same as when she decided to come to town. She controls me, not I her."
Blair settled back in his chair. The mask of impassivity dropped back over his face, not again to lift. He was again in command of himself.