"Oh, indeed!" He drew a chair forward. "Sit down and confront the truth," he said, as he sat on the bench opposite. He was trembling violently. Jim still maintained his composure. Henry’s clinched hand struck the table as he sneeringly exclaimed: "You owe everything you are to me." With the bitter knowledge of how much he had sacrificed for the family, quick came Jim’s reply: "You mean everything I am not." But Henry did not notice the truth of Jim’s words. Ever since his boyhood, when he had first abused his power as master of the Towers, he had been irritated by the opposing point of view of his cousin—had rebelled at Jim’s success in making a place for himself in the world without his help. "You have lived in my house," he said, "enjoyed my bounty, and now—damn you—" "Don’t say it—don’t!" Jim’s words hit at Henry across the table like points of forked lightning. All the pent-up feeling of years seemed concentrated in the utterance. He was leaning far across the table, his face twitching with disgust at Henry’s suspicions. Like Diana he sickened at the thought that Henry could believe him capable of playing so degrading a part in Diana’s life. "Don’t," he continued, "or I’ll forget myself—forget the respect we owe her—" Even as he spoke he knew that Diana was the supreme concern of his life. That he loved her, he now realized; all the misery that might ensue was engulfed in the supreme surrender he made to his love, the love that unconsciously for the past months had become part of his life. But with this knowledge came clearly the injustice that Diana and he were being subjected to, by a mind that could not conceive of the purity of her friendship. "You—why, you—" he began again, then with difficulty controlled himself. It was impossible to continue this conversation further; any moment they might be interrupted. He could not determine the course of his future at the moment, but he could save her the discovery of his secret—he could save her further humiliation from Henry. "Henry, you must have been drinking. Go to Diana at once, before she realizes what you said, before it is too late. Go and make your peace with her for this outrage against her." While he spoke he was trying to escape from the knowledge the night had brought. He watched Henry, who in a dogged tone said: "It’s too late now. It has always been too late—with me—and Di." "Nonsense," Jim said. Henry mumbled on as though he were only half aware of the words he was speaking. "Unless you’d intercede for me? She’d listen to you." Jim rose. To obtain peace and dismiss from Henry’s mind all suspicion that might harm Diana was his one desire. But almost before he was on his feet, Henry sprang up and held Jim with both hands while he spluttered in frantic abandon: "No, no—I couldn’t trust you—I couldn’t trust you."