Lord Heyton dropped back into the chair and, covertly wiping the sweat

from his face, which was white now, glanced from Dene to the fire, then

back again; but his eyes could get no higher than Dene's waistcoat.

"I--I suppose you've come to kick up a row, to bully me?" he said,

sullenly.

"Not at all," retorted Dene, coolly. "If I had wanted to kick up a row,

to bully you--in other words, to round on you and show you up, I should

have come before, the moment I knew how you had--sold me. Yes, that's

the word; sold me."

"I--I was hard driven," said Heyton, almost inaudibly. "I tell you that,

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if I hadn't been able to put my hand on the money, I should have been

ruined. A man in my position can't stand being declared a defaulter.

I--I thought it would be all right; that my father would have stumped

up; but he left England for some beastly place abroad; where, I don't

know even know, and there was no getting at him. And there wasn't a

penny to be got out of those cursed lawyers----"

"Oh, you needn't trouble to explain," said Dene, grimly. "I understand

it all--Miriam has been to see me."

The young man in the chair started, his face flushed, and he looked

savagely, yet fearfully, at Dene.

"Miriam been to see you!" he repeated, huskily. "Why--what----!"

"When you told her that I was a forger, that I'd passed a false cheque,

you didn't think that she would go to me. You thought she would accept

your statement, as she has accepted your other lies about me, and just

drop me. Oh, yes; I know how you managed to get her away from me. Poor

girl! Unawares she let out a great deal in the few minutes she was with

me to-day. You blackened my character pretty considerably; and, by

George! you must have done it very well, or you would not have got her

to believe you. I've met some bad 'uns in my time, Heyton; but, upon my

word, I think you're the very worst of the lot. You're black rotten,

through and through. And yet you've got a decent girl not only to

believe in you, but to marry you--a liar, a coward, and a scoundrel."

The other man rose, his hands clenched. Dene jerked his head towards the

chair.

"Sit down," he said, as he sought in his pockets for a cigarette, found

it, and began to smoke. "I'm glad to see that I've touched you on the

raw. I didn't think there was a tender spot on you. Oh, sit down, man,

and put your fists in your pockets; you haven't the pluck to strike me.

I wish you had"--his eyes flashed ominously--"for I might be tempted to

give you the thrashing you deserve and I'm longing to give you. And

yet--no, I shouldn't; for I wouldn't defile my hands by touching you."




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