If he reciprocates, it 's love, it 's passion, it 's what you will, but it 's common enough! But when he does n't repay her in kind, when he can't, poor devil, it 's—it 's—upon my word," cried Fenton, slapping his knee, "it 's chivalry!"
For some moments Roger failed to appreciate the remarkable purport of these observations; then, suddenly, it dawned upon him. "Do I understand you," he asked, in a voice gentle by force of wonder, "that you are the man?"
Fenton squared himself in his chair. "You have hit it, sir. I am the man,—the happy, the unhappy man. D—n it, sir, it 's not my fault!"
Roger stood staring; Fenton felt his eyes penetrating him to the core. "Excuse me," said Roger, at last, "if I suggest your giving me some slight evidence in support of this extraordinary claim!"
"Evidence? is n't there about evidence enough? When a young girl gives up home and friends and fortune and—and reputation, and rushes out into the world to throw herself into a man's arms, it seems to me you have got your evidence. But if you 'll not take my word, you may leave it! I may look at the matter once too often, let me tell you! I admire Nora with all my heart; I worship the ground she treads on; but I confess I'm afraid of her; she 's too good for me; she was meant for a finer gentleman than I! By which I don't mean you, of necessity. But you have been good to her, and you have a claim. It has been cancelled in a measure; but you wish to set it up again. Now you see that I stand in your way; that if I had a mind to, I might stand
