“I admit none of your arguments,” said Godfrey at last. “Besides, I am my own master. I owe you a debt for many kindnesses; your affection—I don’t undervalue it. But there things end. After all, we met a year ago as strangers. I’ve run my life as I chose, and I mean to run it as I choose. I expect Lady Edna to arrive at any minute. In common delicacy I must ask you to let me go my own ways.”
“All right, go,” said Baltazar. “But I’ll go with you.”
Godfrey’s eyes flamed.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“My dear fellow,” said Baltazar, “I don’t think there’s a damned thing in the world that I wouldn’t dare. Haven’t you found that out?”
So they stood there for a while longer, talking in their islet beneath the glass roof of the busy station, and the boy’s heart was filled with anger and wild hatred of the thick-shouldered, smiling man, with the powerful face and infernal dancing eyes.
Then suddenly Baltazar strode away at a great pace, and Godfrey, turning, saw that he was cutting off Lady Edna, who had entered, preceded by a porter wheeling her luggage. Before he had time to overtake him, Baltazar was already taking off his hat to an amazed lady and had imperiously checked the porter.
“Lady Edna,” said he, “I’m here to prevent Godfrey and yourself from committing the insanity of your lives.”
She said, mistress of herself, “I don’t understand you, Mr. Baltazar. You seem to be taking an outrageous liberty. I am going to stay at the house of a friend who has asked Godfrey to be my fellow-guest.”
Before Baltazar could reply, Godfrey came hurrying up with his slight limp and plunged into angry explanations. She looked at the clock.