back mechanically to the seat he had just left.
Stafford saw the instant's advantage which, if he did not pursue, all
would be lost. With a great effort he simulated intense anger and
indignation.

"Sit down, Byng," he said, with a gesture of authority. He leaned over
the table, holding the other's eyes, the letter in one clinched hand.
"Kill him--," he said, and pointed to the other room, from which came
the maddening iteration of the jingling song--"you would kill him for
his hellish insolence, for this infamous attempt to lead your wife
astray, but what good will it do to kill him?"

"Not him alone, but her too," came the savage, uncontrolled voice from
the uncontrolled savagery of the soul.

Suddenly a great fear shot up in Stafford's heart. His breath came in
sharp, breaking gasps. Had he--had he killed Jasmine?

"You have not--not her?"

"No--not yet." The lips of the avenger suddenly ceased twitching, and
they shut with ominous certainty.

An iron look came into Stafford's face. He had his chance now. One
word, one defense only! It would do all, or all would be lost--sunk in
a sea of tragedy. Diplomacy had taught him the gift of control of face
and gesture, of meaning in tone and word. He made an effort greater
than he had ever put forward in life. He affected an enormous and
scornful surprise.

"You think--you dare to think that she--that Jasmine--"

"Think, you say! The letter--that letter--"

"This letter--this letter, Byng--are you a fool? This letter, this
preposterous thing from the universal philanderer, the effeminate
erotic! It is what it is, and it is no more. Jasmine--you know her.
Indiscreet--yes; always indiscreet in her way, in her own way, and
always daring. A coquette always. She has coquetted all her life; she
cannot help it. She doesn't even know it. She led him on from sheer
wilfulness. What did it matter to her that he was of no account! She
led him on, to be at her feet like the rest, like bigger and better
men--like us all. Was there ever a time when she did not want to master
us? She has coquetted since--ah, you do not know as I do, her old
friend! She has coquetted since she was a little child. Coquetted, and
no more. We have all been her slaves--yes, long before you came--all of
us. Look at Mennaval! She--"

With a distracted gesture Byng interrupted. "The world believes the
worst. Last night, by accident, I heard at De Lancy Scovel's house that
she and Mennaval--and now this