'How do you know he has done anything?'

'That does not matter. I know. Tell me as quickly as you can what he
has done.'

'It is not a very pleasant story to tell,' he said, 'to a young lady
about one of her relatives.'

'Never mind that. Tell me.'

'Very well, he has done this: He has pretended he was our friend, and
professed to aid us in forming this company. He has delayed us by every
means in his power until the option has nearly expired. Then he has gone
to Canada and secured for himself, and a man named Melville, the option
of the mine when John Kenyon's time is up--that is to say, at twelve
o'clock to-morrow, when Kenyon's option expires, your cousin will pay the
money and own the mine; after which, of course, Kenyon and myself will be
out of it. I don't mind the loss at all--I would gladly give Kenyon my
share--but for John it is a terrible blow. He had counted on the money to
pay debts which he considers he owes to his father for his education. He
calls them debts of honour, though they are not debts of honour in the
ordinary sense of the words. Therefore, it seemed to me a terrible thing
that----' Here he paused and did not go on. He saw there were tears in the
eyes of the girl to whom he was talking. 'It is brutal,' he said, 'to
tell you all this. You are not to blame for it and neither is your
father, although I spoke to him in a heated manner yesterday.'

'When did you say the option expires?'

'At twelve o'clock to-morrow.'