ou, Uncle Dennis. A middle policy is no
use to me. Good-bye!" And without shaking hands, he went out.

CHAPTER XXII

In the hall someone rose from a sofa, and came towards him. It was
Courtier.

"Run you to earth at last," he said; "I wish you'd come and dine with me.
I'm leaving England to-morrow night, and there are things I want to say."

There passed through Miltoun's mind the rapid thought: 'Does he know?'
He assented, however, and they went out together.

"It's difficult to find a quiet place," said Courtier; "but this might
do."

The place chosen was a little hostel, frequented by racing men, and famed
for the excellence of its steaks. And as they sat down opposite each
other in the almost empty room, Miltoun thought: Yes, he does know! Can
I stand any more of this? He waited almost savagely for the attack he
felt was coming.

"So you are going to give up your seat?" said Courtier.

Miltoun looked at him for some seconds, before replying.

"From what town-crier did you hear that?"

But there was that in Courtier's face which checked his anger; its
friendliness was transparent.

"I am about her only friend," Courtier proceeded earnestly; "and this is
my last chance--to say nothing of my feeling towards you, which, believe
me, is very cordial."

"Go on, then," Miltoun muttered.

"Forgive me for putting it bluntly. Have you considered what her
position was before she met you?"

Miltoun felt the blood rushing to his face, but he sat still, clenching
his nails into the palms of his hands.

"Yes, yes," said Courtier, "but that attitude of mind--you used to have
it yourself--which decrees either living death, or spiritual adultery to
women, makes my blood boil. You can't deny that those were the
alternatives, and I say you had the right fundamentally to protest
against them, not only in words but deeds. You did protest, I know; but
this present decision of yours is a climb down, as much as to say that
your protest was wrong."

Miltoun rose from his seat. "I cannot discuss this," he said; "I
cannot."

"For her sake, you must. If you give up your public work, you'll spoil
her life a second time."

Miltoun again sat down. At the word 'must' a steely feeling had come to
his aid; his eyes began to resemble the old Cardinal's. "Your nature and
mine, Courtier," he said, "are too far apart; we shall never understand
each other."

"Never mind that," answered Courtier. "Admitting tho