“I want only five minutes’ talk with her, Tetlow,” said Norman, dropping into an almost pleading tone.  “And I guarantee I’ll say nothing you wouldn’t approve, if you heard.  You are advising her badly.  You are doing her an injury.”

“I am protecting her from a scoundrel,” retorted Tetlow.

“She’ll not thank you for it, when she finds out the truth.”

“You can write to her.  What a shallow liar you are!”

“I cannot write what I must say,” said Norman.  It had never been difficult for him, however provoked, to keep his temper—­outwardly.  Tetlow’s insults were to him no more than the barkings of a watch dog, and one not at all dangerous, but only amusing.  “I must see her.  If you are her friend, and not merely a jealous, disappointed lover, you’ll advise her to see me.”

“You shall not see her, if I can help it,” cried his former friend.  “And if you persist in annoying her——­”

“Don’t make futile threats, Tetlow,” Norman interrupted.  “You’ve done me all the mischief you can do.  I see you hate me for the injuries you’ve done me.  That’s the way it always is.  But I don’t hate you.  It was at my suggestion that the Lockyer firm is trying to get you back as a partner.”  Then, as Tetlow colored—­“Oh, I see you’re accepting their offer.”

“If I had thought——­”

“Nonsense.  You’re not a fool.  How does it matter whose the hand, if only it’s a helping hand?  And you may be sure they’d never have made you the offer if they didn’t need you badly.  All the credit I claim is having the intelligence to enlighten their stupidity with the right suggestion.”

In spite of himself Tetlow was falling under the spell of Norman’s personality, of the old and deep admiration the lesser man had for the greater.

“Norman,” he said, “how can you be such a combination of bigness and petty deviltry?  You are a monster of self-indulgence.  It’s a God’s mercy there aren’t more men with your selfishness and your desires.”

Norman laughed sardonically.  “The difference between me and most men,” said he, “isn’t in selfishness or in desires, but in courage.  Courage, Billy—­there’s what most of you lack.  And even in courage I’m not alone.  My sort fill most of the high places.”

Tetlow looked dismal confession of a fear that Norman was right.

“Yes,” pursued Norman, “in this country there are enough wolves to attend to pretty nearly all the sheep—­though it’s amazing how much mutton there is.”  With an abrupt shift from raillery, “You’ll help me with her, Billy?”

“Why don’t you let her alone, Fred?” pleaded Tetlow.  “It isn’t worthy of you—­a big man like you.  Let her alone, Fred!—­the poor child, trying to earn her own living in an honest way.”

“Let her alone?  Tetlow, I shall never let her alone—­as long as she and I are both alive.”

The fat man, with his premature wrinkles and his solemn air of law books that look venerable though fresh from the press, took on an added pastiness.  “Fred—­for God’s sake, can’t you love her in a noble way—­a way worthy of you?”