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,
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."