"Of course _nothing_ can excuse my speaking of him like that--to you.

But I feel you ought to be told.

Miss Wynter is in your care, you are in a measure responsible for her future happiness--the happiness of her whole _life_, Curzon--and if anything goes wrong with her----" The professor puts up his hand as if to check him.

He has grown ashen-grey, and the other hand resting on the back of the chair is visibly trembling.
"Nothing shall go wrong with her," says he, in a curious tone.
Hardinge regards him keenly.

Is this pallor, this unmistakable trepidation, caused only by his dislike to hear his brother's real character exposed.
"Well, I have told you," says he coldly.
"It is a mistake," says the professor.