CHAPTER II.
AN INDOOR TEMPEST "If you're broke," said Starrett, leering, "why don't you marry your cousin ?" Carl Granberry stared insolently across the table.
"Pass the buck," he reminded coolly.

"And pour yourself some more whiskey.

You're only a gentleman when you're drunk, Starrett.

You're sober now." Payson and Wherry laughed.

Starrett, not yet in the wine-flush of his heavy courtesy, passed the buck with a frown of annoyance.
A log blazed in the library fireplace, staining with warm, rich shadows the square-paneled ceiling of oak and the huge war-beaten slab of table-wood about which the men were gathered, both feudal relics brought to the New York home of Carl Granberry's uncle from a ruined castle in Spain.
"If you've gone through all your money," resumed Starrett offensively, "I'd marry Diane." "_Miss_ Westfall!" purred Carl correctively.