been difficult. He could talk glibly enough
about ordinary topics; his sense of humour, his retentive memory, made
him welcome even in the critical society of Eaton Square, but you know
him as a creature of unplumbed reserves. The matter in hand was so
vital that he could not touch it with firm hands or voice. He spoke at
his worst, and he knew it; concluding an incoherent and slightly
inarticulate recital of the reasons which ought to keep Scaife in his
house at night with a lame "Two heads ought to prevail against one."

Scaife showed his fine teeth. "You think that? Your head and Caesar's
against mine?"

The challenge revealed itself in the derisive, sneering tone.

John shrugged his shoulders and rose. "I have blundered; I am sorry."

"Hold hard," said Scaife. He read censure upon Desmond's ingenuous
countenance. Then his temper whipped him to a furious resentment
against John, as an enemy who had turned the tables with good breeding;
who had gained, indeed, a victory against odds. Scaife drew in his
breath; his brows met in a frown. "You have not blundered; and you are
not sorry," he said deliberately. "I'm not a fool, Verney; but perhaps
I have underrated your ability. You're as clever as they make 'em.
You knew well enough that you were the last person in the world to lead
me in a string; you knew that, I say, and yet you come here to pose as
the righteous youth, doing his duty--eh?--against odds, and accepting
credit for the same from Caesar. Why, it's plain to me as the nose
upon your face that in your heart you would like me to be sacked."

Desmond interrupted. "You are mad, Demon. Take that back; take it
back!"

"Ask him," said Scaife. "He hates me, and common decency ought to have
kept him out of this room. But he's not a liar. Ask him. Put it your
own way. Soften it, make pap of it, if you like, but get an answer."

"Jonathan, it is not true, is it? You don't like Scaife; but you would
be sorry, very sorry, to see him--sacked."

"I'm glad you've not funked it," said Scaife. "You've put it squarely.
Let him answer it as squarely."

John was white to the lips, white and trembling; despicable in his own
eyes, how much more despicable, therefore, in the eyes of his friend,
whose passionate faith in him was about to be scorched and shrivelled.

Scaife began to laugh.

"For God's sake, don't laugh!" said Desmond. "Jonathan, I know you are
too proud to defend yourself against suc