"He's a remarkable man. And after all she married him.
She needn't have. As for the party--well, I don't know how we shall
replace him."
"I don't want him replaced," said Marchmont. "Everything that he was
doing had better be left undone; and everything that he is had better not
be. You call me inhuman. Well, people who repress their pity for
individuals in the interests of the general welfare are always called
that."
"Yes, but you don't pity him," retorted Dick.
Marchmont thought for a moment. "No, I don't," he admitted. "I see why
one might; but I can't do it myself." He paused and added, smiling, "I
suppose that's the weak point in my attitude."
"One of them," said Dick, but he said no more. There are limits to candid
discussion even among the closest friends; he could not tell Marchmont in
so many words that he wanted Quisante dead so as to be able to marry
Quisante's wife, however well aware of the fact he might be and Marchmont
might suspect him to be. Or, if he had said this, he could have said it
only in vigorous reproof, perhaps even in horror; and to this he was not
equal.
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