be the very identical one that my mother selected, and if you assert
that she is, I'll be hanged if I'll argue the point. I only say this,
that it doesn't alter my position in the slightest degree. I don't
want her. I won't have her. I don't want to see her. I don't care if
the whole of Biggs's nieces, in solemn conclave, with old Biggs at
their head, had formally discussed the whole matter, and finally
resolved unanimously that she should be mine. Good Lord, man! don't
you understand how it is? What the mischief do I care about any body?
Do you think I went through that fiery furnace for nothing? And what
do you suppose that life on the island meant? Is all that nothing? Did
you ever live on an island with the child-angel? Did you ever make a
raft for her and fly? Did you ever float down a river current between
banks burned black by raging fires, feeding her, soothing her,
comforting her, and all the while feeling in a general fever about
her? You hauled her out of a crater, did you? By Jove! And what of
that? Why, that furnace that I pulled Ethel out of was worse than a
hundred of your craters. And yet, after all that, you think that I
could be swayed by the miserable schemes of a lot of Biggs's nieces!
And you scowl at a fellow, and get huffy and jealous. By Jove!"

After this speech, which was delivered with unusual animation, Hawbury
lighted a cigar, which he puffed at most energetically.

"All right, old boy," said Dacres. "A fellow's apt to judge others by
himself, you know. Don't make any more set speeches, though. I begin
to understand your position. Besides, after all--"

Dacres paused, and the dark frown that was on his brow grew still
darker.