"
"What the devil do you mean?" asked Gordon, setting down the glass
that was half raised to his lips.
"I mean that I want to marry--Jocelyn."
And the modern school of realistic, mawkishly foul novelists, who
hold that Love excuseth all, would have taken delight in the
passionate rendering of the girl's name.
"Want to marry Jocelyn, do you?" answered Maurice, with a derisive
little laugh. On the first impulse of the moment he gave no thought
to himself or his own interests, and spoke with undisguised
contempt. He might have been speaking to a beggar on the roadside.
Durnovo's eyes flashed dangerously, and his tobacco-stained teeth
clenched for a moment over his lower lip.
"That is my desire--and intention."
"Look here, Durnovo!" exclaimed Gordon. "Don't be a fool! Can't
you see that it is quite out of the question?"
He attempted weakly to dismiss the matter by leaning forward on his
writing-table, taking up his pen, and busying himself with a number
of papers.
Victor Durnovo rose from his chair so hastily that in a flash
Maurice Gordon's hand was in the top right-hand drawer of his
writing-table. The good-natured blue eyes suddenly became fixed and
steady. But Durnovo seemed to make an effort over himself, and
walked to the window, where he drew aside the woven-grass blind and
looked out into the glaring sunlight.
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