I was silent, thinking my own thoughts. I won't answer for it, that in spite of his caution, I did not lay an immaterial brick or two. "You're still irreconcilable?" I contented myself with asking.
He assumed an expression of absolutely jovial contempt. "My dear sir, I detest the sight of you!"
"Have you no question to ask, no demand to make?"
He looked at me a moment in silence, with just the least little twitch and tremor of mouth and eye. His vanity, I guessed on the instant, was determined stoutly to ignore that I held him at an advantage and to refuse me the satisfaction of extorting from him the least allusion to the evidence of his disgrace. He had known bitter compulsion once; he would not do it the honor to concede that it had not spent itself. "No demand but that you will excuse my further attendance."
My own vanity took a hand in the game. Justice herself was bound to go no more than half-way. If he was not afraid of his little paper, he might try a week or two more of bravery. I bowed to him in silence and let him depart. As I turned to go I found myself face to face with Mrs. Beck, whose pretty visage was flushed with curiosity. "You and Mr. Guest have quarrelled," she said roundly.
"As you see, madam."
"As I see, madam! But what is it all about?"
"About—his daughter."
"His daughter and his ducats! You're a very deep young man, in spite of those boyish looks of yours. Why did you never tell me you knew him? You've quarrelled about money matters."
"As you say," I answered, "I'm very deep. Don't tempt me to further subterfuge."
"He has lost money, I know. Is it much? Tell me that."
"It's an enormous sum!" I said, with mock solemnity.
"Provoking man!" And she gave a little stamp of disgust.
"He's in trouble," I said. "To a woman of your tender sympathies he ought to be more interesting than ever."
