"That 's not an answer! But it 's none of my business. Only if I, in his
place, being suspected of having--what shall I call it?--a cold heart,
managed to do that piece of work, oh, oh! I should be called a pretty
lot of names. Charlatan, poseur, arrangeur! But he can do as he chooses!
My dear young man, I know you don't like me," he went on, as Roderick
came back. "It 's a pity; you are strong enough not to care about me at
all. You are very strong."
"Not at all," said Roderick curtly. "I am very weak!"
"I told you last year that you would n't keep it up. I was a great ass.
You will!"
"I beg your pardon--I won't!" retorted Roderick.
"Though I 'm a great ass, all the same, eh? Well, call me what you will,
so long as you turn out this sort of thing! I don't suppose it makes any
particular difference, but I should like to say now I believe in you."
Roderick stood looking at him for a moment with a strange hardness in
his face. It flushed slowly, and two glittering, angry tears filled his
eyes. It was the first time Rowland had ever seen them there; he saw
them but once again.
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