"
He followed MacDougall to the door, speaking to him in a low
voice, and then turned to Gregson. The artist had seated himself
at one side of the small office table, and Philip sat down
opposite him, holding out his hand to him again.
"What is the matter, Greggy?"
"This is not a time for long explanations," said the artist, still
holding back his hand. "They can come later, Phil. But to-night--
now--you must understand why I cannot shake hands with you. We
have been friends for a good many years. In a few minutes we will
be enemies--or you will be mine. One thing, before I go on, I must
ask of you. I demand it. Whatever passes between us during the
next ten minutes, say no word against Eileen Brokaw. I will say
what you might say--that for a time her soul wandered, and was
almost lost. But it has come back to her, strong and pure. I love
her. Some strange fate has ordained that she should love me,
worthless as I am. She is to be my wife."
Philip's hand was still across the table.
"Greggy--Greggy--God bless you!" he cried, softly. "I know what it
is to love, and to be loved. Why should I be your enemy because
Eileen Brokaw's heart has turned to gold, and she has given it to
you? Greggy, shake!"
"Wait," said Gregson, huskily.
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