That's your affair. But don't cash that check, Ives. For if
you do--I dislike to threaten--"
"You don't need to threaten me, Mr. Banneker," interrupted Ives eagerly.
"If you think it wasn't a fair bet, your word is enough for me. That
goes. It's off. I think just that of you. I'm a friend of yours, as I
hope to prove to you some day. I don't lay this up against you; not for
a minute."
Not trusting himself to make answer to this proffer, Banneker turned
away to find his host and make his adieus. As he left, he saw Delavan
Eyre, flushed but composed, sipping a liqueur and listening with
courteous appearance of appreciation to a vapid and slobbering story of
one of the racing magnates. A debauchee, a cumberer of the earth,
useless, selfish, scandalous of life--and Banneker, looking at him with
pitiful eyes, paid his unstinted tribute to the calm and high courage of
the man.
Walking slowly home in the cool air, Banneker gave thanks for a
drink-proof head. He had need of it; he wanted to think and think
clearly. How did this shocking revelation about Eyre affect his own
hopes of Io? That she would stand by her husband through his ordeal
Banneker never doubted for an instant. Her pride of fair play would
compel her to that. It came to his mind that this was her other and
secret reason for not divorcing Eyre; for maintaining still the outward
form of a marriage which had ceased to exist long before.
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