"Just that. Do you think you're the only man who can do a brave thing? Do you suppose you can flaunt your heroics without making me feel that I am a small specimen who has no right to be smirking around as a complacent recipient of others' property? I will not have it. I am as capable as you of making sacrifices. I will not be outdone by you."
"Please explain yourself." Berkley spoke quietly, eyeing the other man's tense face.
"I mean this: I wish Miss Talbot to retain her property. I have taken your advice, but, as I told you before, it was not worth while. Not even for the sake of having her own again would she take me with the property."
"You wouldn't expect one of her caliber to do it for the sake of that only," said Berkley a little proudly. Then more gently, "I am no end of sorry. Believe me or not, I had hoped for a better report from you."
"Is that honestly said?"
"It is."
The man's face softened. "I believe you, Matthews. If ever a man has shown himself loyal, you are he. I see it all, and I bow to the inevitable. I never have had much of what I wanted in this world, and I suppose I shall never have. As yet I cannot be as generous as you, but some day I hope to reach your heights. I have the promise of a good future before me, and I can do without Cyrus Talbot's inheritance. What I came to say I have said. Stop proceedings. I relinquish all claim to Talbot's Angles."
What could Berkley answer? He realized that these were sorry days for Jeffreys, and the least said now the better. "Very well," he agreed; "it shall be as you wish. I consider it most generous of you. Of course nothing of any account has been done, and we will drop the whole thing for the present. Perhaps you will wish to reconsider it some day. If you do, I am at your service. Shall I hand you back your papers?"
"No. Throw them into the fire. I don't care what you do with them. I shall never want them."
He rose to go. Berkley followed him to the street where they parted, the one to return to his room, the other to his office where he tied up the papers and thrust them into his desk. That was done. What a storm of feeling those yellow sheets had raised, and now—"Poor devil," said Berkley to himself. "It was pretty hard lines and he has shown himself of good stuff. Confound it all, why did it have to happen so? At least I must have the delicacy to keep out of the way while the man is in town." The color rushed to his face, but receded almost as quickly. "I'm a conceited ass," he cried inwardly. "If she couldn't care for such a man as Jeffreys why should I expect her to care for me? Go to, Berkley Matthews. Crawl down from your pinnacle, and don't lay any such flattering unction to your soul." He set to work at one of his briefs, determined not to encourage himself in any illusions.