"Did you, Spike?"

"Yes! Yes! Oh, Geoff, don't you understand?"

"I understand."

"Well, why don't ye say something? Why don't ye tell me what I am? Say
I'm a dirty sneak--call me a yeller cur--anything!"

"No, you were drunk, that's all; and when the drink is in, honour, and
all that makes a man, is out--you were only drunk."

"Oh, but I wasn't s' drunk as all that," gasped Spike, cowering in
his chair, "but he kep' on comin' at me with his questions, an' at
last--when I told him how I met up with you--he kind o' give a jump--an'
his face--" Spike clenched his fists and, slowly raising them, pressed
them upon his eyes. "I'll never forget th' look on--his face! So now you
know as I've blown th' game on ye--given ye away--you as was my friend!"
With the word Spike sobbed and fell grovelling on his knees. "Curse me,
Geoff!" he cried. "Oh, curse me, an' tell me what I am!"

"You are Hermione's brother!"

"My God!" wailed the boy. "If she knew, she'd hate me."

"I--almost think she would, Spike."

"You won't tell her, Geoff, you won't never let her know?"