A bright flash of lightning that lit up the faces of the two men would
have revealed Champney's flushed features and Courtland's lack of color
had they been looking at each other. But they were not, and the long
reverberating crash of thunder which followed prevented any audible
reply from Courtland, and covered his agitation.

For without fully accepting Champney's conclusions he was cruelly
shocked at the young man's utterance of them. He had scrupulously
respected the wishes of Miss Sally and had faithfully--although never
hopelessly--held back any expression of his own love since their
conversation in the cemetery. But while his native truthfulness and
sense of honor had overlooked the seeming insincerity of her attitude
towards Champney, he had never justified his own tacit participation
in it, and the concealment of his own pretensions before his possible
rival. It was true that she had forbidden him to openly enter the
lists with her admirers, but Champney's innocent assumption of his
indifference to her and his consequent half confidences added poignancy
to his story. There seemed to be only one way to extricate himself,
and that was by a quarrel. Whether he did or did not believe Champney's
story, whether it was only the jealous exaggeration of a rival, or
Miss Sally was actually deceiving them both, his position had become
intolerable.

"I must remind you, Champney," he said, with freezing deliberation,
"that Miss Miranda Dows and her niece now represent the Drummond Company
equally with myself, and that you cannot expect me to listen to any
reflections upon the way they choose to administer their part in its
affairs, either now, or to come. Still less do I care to discuss the
idle gossip which can affect only the PRIVATE interests of these ladies,