“Let me pass, please,” she said, like an outraged princess; and waving Jimmie aside, she made the exit of offended majesty.
The two men looked stupidly at each other. Their position was ignominious.
“I did it for the best, my boy,” said Jimmie, taking up a pipe which he began to fill mechanically. He was just the kind creature of happier days. The young fellow's heart was touched. After a minute's silence he committed a passionate indiscretion.
“I wish to God you would tell me there is something hidden beneath this ghastly story, and that it's quite different from what it appears to be!”
Jimmie drew himself up and looked the young man between the eyes.
“That's a question I discuss with no human being,” said he.
“I beg your pardon,” said Tony Merewether, in sincere apology. “I would not have taken such a liberty if it had n't been a matter of life and death for me. Perhaps you think I ought to do more or less as Aline asks me; but she is too precious to purchase with an infernal lie. I'm hanged if I'll do it, and I don't think you're the man to misunderstand my frankness.”
Jimmie had lit his pipe during the foregoing speech. He drew two or three meditative puffs.
“Have as little to do with lies, my boy, as ever you can,” said he. “And cheer up, all is sure to come right in the end.”
He was sunk in reflection for a long time after the young man had gone, and again for a long time after Aline had done remorseful penance for her loss of temper. Then he went out for a walk and brought back something in his pocket. At dinner-time he was unusually preoccupied. When the meal was over, he fished up a black bottle from beneath the table, and going to the sideboard, came back with a couple of wineglasses. Aline watched him as though he were performing some rite in black magic.