“And to endeavour to win Liane’s love,” added the Captain, curtly.
Zertho’s brows narrowed slightly. He paused, gazing at the fine diamond glittering upon his white finger.
“Well, yes,” he answered at last. “I don’t see why there should be anything underhand between us.”
“I gave you my answer when you came down to Stratfield Mortimer,” the other responded in a harsh, dry tone, rising slowly. “I still adhere to my decision.”
“Why?” protested his whilom partner, looking up at him intently, and sticking his hands into his pockets in lazy, indolent attitude.
“Because I’m confident she will never marry you.”
“Has she a lover?”
His companion gave an affirmative nod. Zertho frowned and bit his lip.
“Who is he?” he asked. “Some uncouth countryman or other, I’ll be bound.”
“The son of Sir John Stratfield.”