"Yes, yes--cut that. Spit it out and have done with it. I know there's
been trouble in you for days. You can't hide your thoughts. You've been
grim as a death's-head for a month--ever since I was engaged, come to
think of it. Now open your jaws and have done."

John's aggressive and hectoring manner spoke volubly of his own lack of
ease. Martin nerved himself to begin, holding it his duty, but secretly
fearing the issue in the light of his brother's hard, set face.

"You've something bothering you too, old man. I'm sure of it. God is
aware I don't know much about women myself, but--"

"Oh, dry up that rot! Don't think I'm blind, if you are. Don't deceive
yourself. There's a woman-hunger in you, too, though perhaps you haven't
found it out yet. What about that Blanchard girl?"

Martin flushed like a schoolboy; his hand went up over his mouth and
chin as though to hide part of his guilt, and he looked alarmed and
uneasy.

John laughed without mirth at the other's ludicrous trepidation.

"Good heavens! I've done nothing surely to suggest--?"

"Nothing at all--except look as if you were going to have a fit every
time you get within a mile of her. Lovers know the signs, I suppose.
Don't pretend you're made of different stuff to the rest of us, that's
all."