Still no reply. Still the same mutely-insolent defiance of look and
manner. Arnold's dark color began to deepen.

"Why don't you answer me?" he said.

"Because I have had enough of it."

"Enough of what?"

"Enough of being worried about Miss Silvester. Miss Silvester's my
business--not yours."

"Gently, Geoffrey! Don't forget that I have been mixed up in that
business--without seeking it myself."

"There's no fear of my forgetting. You have cast it in my teeth often
enough."

"Cast it in your teeth?"

"Yes! Am I never to hear the last of my obligation to you? The devil
take the obligation! I'm sick of the sound of it."

There was a spirit in Arnold--not easily brought to the surface,
through the overlying simplicity and good-humor of his ordinary
character--which, once roused, was a spirit not readily quelled.
Geoffrey had roused it at last.

"When you come to your senses," he said, "I'll remember old times--and