"
The place chosen was a little hostel, frequented by racing men, and
famed for the excellence of its steaks. And as they sat down opposite
each other in the almost empty room, Miltoun thought: Yes, he does know!
Can I stand any more of this? He waited almost savagely for the attack
he felt was coming.
"So you are going to give up your seat?" said Courtier.
Miltoun looked at him for some seconds, before replying.
"From what town-crier did you hear that?"
But there was that in Courtier's face which checked his anger; its
friendliness was transparent.
"I am about her only friend," Courtier proceeded earnestly; "and this is
my last chance--to say nothing of my feeling towards you, which, believe
me, is very cordial."
"Go on, then," Miltoun muttered.
"Forgive me for putting it bluntly. Have you considered what her
position was before she met you?"
Miltoun felt the blood rushing to his face, but he sat still, clenching
his nails into the palms of his hands.
"Yes, yes," said Courtier, "but that attitude of mind--you used to have
it yourself--which decrees either living death, or spiritual adultery
to women, makes my blood boil. You can't deny that those were the
alternatives, and I say you had the right fundamentally to protest
against them, not only in words but deeds. You did protest, I know; but
this present decision of yours is a climb down, as much as to say that
your protest was wrong.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312