“I am her friend,” he declared. “And I will protect her.”
“And allow the charges to be made against her father.”
“They will be brought whether you marry her or not—you know that quite well. I have not been private secretary to Morini without discovering the insecurity of his official position, and the deadly rivalry and crafty cunning of Angelo Borselli. Again, answer me one question—why is Felice Solaro, your friend, condemned as a traitor?”
“He doesn’t concern me in the least,” was the other’s reply.
“But the matter concerns me,” Macbean went on. “Recollect how studiously you have avoided me ever since August, when I recognised you driving over in that road yonder—when an evil fate threw me again across your path.”
“You appear, then, to believe that I am in fear of you?” he said. “But let me tell you that I have no such anxiety whatsoever. Try and prevent my marriage—but recollect it will be at your own peril?”
George knew well at what his enemy had hinted—he knew too well that if he uttered one word it would bring upon him a deadly peril—that he would be hurled to ruin and disgrace. Nevertheless, he was determined to sacrifice himself rather than all that he held most dear should be snatched away from him by that man whose very existence and position was an adventure and a fraud.
But feeing the Frenchman determinedly, he said—
“The reason I invited you out here was to tell you frankly my intention, and so allow you opportunity to leave the place before the truth is known. I intend to go to-morrow to the Minister and tell him exactly the true state of affairs. He is in utter ignorance that it was you who stayed the adverse tide against him in the Chamber of Deputies—in ignorance that you made that vile, despicable agreement with his poor unfortunate daughter. When I have spoken we shall see whether he will allow the marriage to take place.”
“And when you have spoken we shall also see whether he will not hear my own story.”