“Tell you any reason?”
Hockmaster's tone irritated Raine. He rose quickly, thrusting his straw hat to the back of his head, and stood over the recumbent American, with his hands on his hips.
“Yes, she did. Mrs. Stapleton is going to marry me.”
The words brought the other to his feet with a force that nearly upset the small table in front of him.
“God alive, man!” he cried, realizing the whole situation in a rush. “Why on earth didn't you tell me before?”
The two men looked into one another's eyes. It was Raine who was first disconcerted. The intense distress of the other was too genuine for him not to feel touched.
“You're the first man for years,” said Hockmaster, “that I have felt drawn to in friendship; and I have been powerfully drawn to you. I would have cut off my head sooner than said or done anything to pain you Why didn't you stop me this morning?”
“I tried to dissuade you.”
Hockmaster threw away his extinct cigar, and put his hands in his pockets dejectedly.
“Yes, you did so; and I went on running knives into you. Why didn't you pitch me into the lake last night? I wish to God you'd do it now.”