That's a pretty rotten thing to say, Simmy," he said, after a moment.
"Pretty poor sort of wit."

"It wasn't meant for wit, my friend," said Simmy seriously. "I meant every
word of it, no matter how rotten it may have sounded. If you are going to
preach mercy and all that sort of silly rot, practise it whenever it is
possible. There's no law against your being kind to Anne Tresslyn. You
don't have to be governed by a commission or anything like that. She's
just as deserving as any one, you know."

"Which is another way of saying that she _deserves_ my love?" cried Thorpe
angrily.

"She's got it, so it really doesn't matter whether she deserves it or not.
You can't take it away from her. You've tried it and--well, she's still got
it, so there's no use arguing."

"Do you think it gives me any happiness to love her as I do?" cried the
other. "Do you think I am finding joy in the prospect of never having her
for my own--all for my own? Do you--"

"Well, my boy, do you think she is finding much happiness living down
there in that old house all alone? Do you think she is getting much real
joy out of her little old two millions? By the way, why is she living down
there at all? I can tell you. She's doing it because she's got nerve
enough to play the game out as she began it. She's doing it because she
believes it will cause you to think better of her. This is a guess on my
part, but I know darned well she wouldn't be doing it if there wasn't some
good and sufficient reason."

Thorpe nodded his head slowly, an ironic smile on his lips. "Yes, she _is_
playing the game, but not as she began it. I am not so sure that I think
better of her for doing it."

"Brady, I hope you'll forgive me for saying something harsh and
disrespectful about your grandfather, but here goes. He played you a
shabby trick in taking Anne away from you in the first place. No matter
how shabbily Anne behaved toward you, he was worse than she. Then he
virtually compelled you to perform an operation that--well, I'll not say
it. We can forgive him for that. He was suffering. And then he went out of
his way to leave that old house down there to Anne, knowing full well that
if she continued to live in it, it would be a sort of prison to her. She
can't sell it, she can't rent it. She's got to live in it, or abandon it
altogether. I call it a pretty mean sort of trick to play on her, if
you'll forgive my--"

"She doesn't have to live in it," said Thorpe do