He stopped short, taken aback by Anstice's imperious gesture.
"Look here, Cheniston." He spoke curtly, his eyes ablaze. "Life has given us both--me as well as you--a terrible jar. But you won't make things better by resenting what has happened. You have lost the woman you loved, but I have lost a good deal more. With the best intentions"--he smiled ironically at his own phrase--"I have ruined your life; and my own. I am ready to admit I owe you some reparation for the wrong I have quite innocently done you; and I am ready, also, to pay you any price in reason which you may ask, either now or in the future. But the price must be one which may decently be paid."
"I see." Cheniston spoke slowly. "I think, after all, we may shelve the question of payment between you and me. Personally I hope--you will forgive my frankness--that we may never be called upon to meet again. You see"--his voice broke, but he cleared his throat angrily and went on--"I can't help remembering that if you had waited Miss Ryder would still be alive."
Anstice was stung to a last impulse of self-defence.
"If I had waited--and the rescuers had not come, it is possible death would have been a merciful alternative to Miss Ryder's fate," he said. "I have tried to explain that what I did was done--as Miss Ryder would be the first to admit--for the best. But I see you are determined to look upon me as a criminal; and as I don't intend to excuse myself further, well, I will echo your hope that we may never meet again."
And without any further attempt at farewell Anstice turned on his heel and walked out of the room; leaving Bruce Cheniston staring after him with an expression of amazement not untinged with shame in his narrow blue eyes.