By God!--what a farce it all is! Let us talk of something else--I am tired of it!" The words cut like a whip, but the Lord of Moorlands had come to get his son, not to fight St.George.Their sting, however, had completely changed his plans.

Only the club which Gorsuch had put into his hands would count now.
"Yes--a damnable farce!" he thundered, "and one played by a man with beggary staring him straight in the face, and yet to hear you talk one would think you were a Croesus! You mortgaged this house to get ready money, did you not ?" He was not sure, but this was no time in which to split words.
St.George turned quickly: "Who told you that ?" "Is it true ?" "Yes! Do you suppose I would let Harry sneak around corners to avoid his creditors ?" The colonel gave an involuntary start, the blood mounting to the roots of his hair, and as suddenly paled: "You tell me that--you dared to--pay Harry's debts ?" he stammered in amazement.
"Dared!" retorted St.George, lifting his chin contemptuously.

"Really, Talbot, you amuse me.

When you set that dirty hound Gadgem on his trail, what did you expect me to do ?--invite the dog to dinner ?--or have him sleep in the house until I sold furniture enough to get rid of him ?" The colonel leaned back against the mantel's edge as if for support.
All the fight was out of him.

Not only was the situation greatly complicated, but he himself was his host's debtor.