Pat was seated in a lounge chair smoking a cigar. Arthur was pacing up
and down the carpet. Neither of them appeared to have been talking, and,
as I came in, they looked at me curiously, and I saw that their faces in
some subtle way were changed.
They were my best friends, for years we had been accustomed to treat
each other's quarters and possessions as if they were our own, and yet
now I felt as if they were intruding strangers, though I tried hard to
be genial.
"Hallo," I said in a voice that cracked upon the word, "didn't expect to
see you again. Anything special?"
Preston was putting his tray of sandwiches and deviled biscuits on the
table, so we could not say much, but directly he had left the room old
Pat got up from his chair. He held out his hand, pointing at me with a
trembling finger. His face was purple.
"You, you danced twice with her," he said.
So that was it! I grew ice-cold in a moment.
"I won't pretend to misunderstand to what you refer," I said, "but what
the devil is that to you?"
"Pat, don't be a fool!" Arthur whipped out, though the look he gave me,
which he tried to disguise, was not a friendly one.
"Fool is hardly the word," I said. "Kindly explain yourself, Moore, and
forget that you are my guest if you like--I don't mind."
The huge man trembled. Then he turned away with a sort of snarl,
snatched his handkerchief from his cuff and mopped his face.