“Jimmie—”
He checked his advocate. “Please, no more.”
“I should think not, indeed! Are you coming, Norma?”
“You had better go,” said Jimmie, softly. “Why quarrel with your parents? To-morrow, a week, a month hence you can tell me your wishes. I set you quite free.”
Norma made a movement of impatience.
“Don't make me say things I should regret—I am not going to change my mind. No, mother, I am not coming.”
Morland had not said a word, but stood in the background, hating himself. Only Connie's taunt had caused him to enter this maddeningly false position. He knew that his accusation, though he believed it true at the time, was false and base. Jimmie was true gold. He had not betrayed him. Connie, when Jimmie had checked her, went across to Morland.
“Do you believe that Jimmie deserves his reputation?” she said for his ears alone.
“I don't know,” he answered moodily, kicking at a hassock.
“I do know,” she said, “and it's damnable.”