Part 122 (1/2)
”Pardon!” said Arabian sharply. ”What do you mean?”
He was up. But Sir Seymour sat still.
”Mr. Garstin uncovered your secret,” he said. ”A man such as you are naturally objects to that.”
”What have you come here for?” said Arabian.
”You asked me to come.”
”What did you go to d.i.c.k Garstin for?”
”That is my business.”
Sir Seymour got up slowly, very deliberately even, from his chair.
”My secret, you say. What do you know about me?”
In the voice there was intense suspicion.
”We needn't discuss that. I am not going to discuss it.”
”What did you go to d.i.c.k Garstin for?”
”I went to ask him if he would allow me to bring two or three people to his studio to look at his portrait of you.”
”My portrait! What is my portrait to you? Why should you bring people?”
But Sir Seymour did not answer the question. Instead he put one hand on the mantelpiece, leaned slightly towards Arabian, and said:
”You wanted my verdict on the rights of the case between you and Mr.
Garstin. That isn't my affair. You must fight it out between you. But I should seriously advise you not to take too long over the quarrel. You said just now that the English climate was awful. Get out of it as soon as you can.”
”Get out of it! What is it to you whether I stay or go?”
”I'm afraid if you delay here much longer you may be sorry for it.”
”Who are you?” said Arabian fiercely.
”I'm a friend of Miss Van Tuyn.”
”What has that to do with me? Why do you try to interfere with me?”
”Miss Van Tuyn--I saw her this morning--wishes me to see to it that you leave her alone, get out of her life.”
”Are you her father, a relation?”
”No.”
”Then what have you to do with it? You--you impertinent old man!”
Sir Seymour's brick-red, weather-beaten face took on a darker, almost a purplish, hue, and the hand that had been holding the mantelpiece tightened into a fist.