He had not learned yet the arts of defence
against adversity.
"Luke Claridge is dead," he answered sharply. "But you will tell--him,
you will write to Egypt and tell your brother?" she said, the conviction
slowly coming to her that he would not.
"It is not my duty to displace myself, to furnish evidence against
myself--"
"You have destroyed the evidence," she intervened, a little scornfully.
"If there were no more than that--" He shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.
"Do you know there is more?" she asked searchingly. "In whose interests
are you speaking?" he rejoined, with a sneer. A sudden fury possessed
him. Claridge Pasha--she was thinking of him!
"In yours--your conscience, your honour."
"There is over thirty years' possession on my side," he rejoined.
"It is not as if it were going from your family," she argued.
"Family--what is he to me!"
"What is any one to you?" she returned bitterly.
"I am not going to unravel a mystery in order to facilitate the cutting
of my own throat."
"It might be worth while to do something once for another's sake than
your own--it would break the monotony," she retorted, all her sense
tortured by his words, and even more so by his manner.
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