"It would only be a connection anyhow," Dick corrected rather sharply.
"Oh, if that comforts you!" said Morewood, laughing.
"She's a charming girl and I'm awfully glad it's come off."
"Oh, it has?" asked Marchmont.
"Yes, the other day."
"And you're glad in spite of----?"
"Yes, I am. Besides I don't mean anything of that sort. I suppose I know
as well as anybody what Quisante is."
"As far as I'm concerned I'll admit you do, and still feel you don't know
much," remarked the Dean.
"Well, I wish there were more men like him," said Blair, nodding
vigorously.
"Some men would sacrifice anything for their party," remarked Morewood.
Marchmont took no part in the talk about Quisante; he could not praise;
for reasons very plain to himself he would not say a word in blame or
depreciation. Not only had he been Quisante's rival, but ever since his
talk with May he had felt himself the repository of special information,
imperfect indeed and shadowy, yet beyond that which the outside world
possessed. Besides he had received two letters from her, one written in
the course of the fight, gay in tone, expressing an eager interest in her
husband's fortunes, keenly appreciative of her husband's brilliancy and
bravery.
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