em!" retorted Duane sharply.

But Dysart went on:

"You have no respect for me. You found out one thing about me that
settled me in your opinion. Outside of that, however, you never liked
me."

"That is perfectly true."

"I know it. And I want to say now that it was smouldering irritation
from that source--wounded vanity, perhaps--coupled with worry and
increasing cares, that led to that outburst of mine. I never really
believed that my wife needed any protection from the sort of man you
are. You are not that kind."

"That also is true."

"And I know it. And now I've cleared up these matters; and there's
another." He bit his lip, thought a moment, then with a deep, long
breath:

"When you struck me that night I--deserved it. I was half crazy, I
think--with what I had done--with a more material but quite as ruinous
situation developing here in town--with domestic complications--never
mind where all the fault lay--it was demoralising me. Do you think that
I am not perfectly aware that I stand very much alone among men? Do you
suppose that I am not aware of my personal unpopularity as far as men
are concerned? I have never had an intimate friend--except Delancy
Grandcourt. And I've treated him like a beast. There's something wrong
about me; there always has been."

He slaked his thirst again; his hand shook so that he nearly dropped the
glass:

"Which is preliminary," he went on, "to saying to you that no matter
what I said in access of rage, I never doubted that your encounter
with--Miss Quest--was an accident. I never doubted that your motive in
coming to me was generous. God knows why I said what I did say. You
struck me; and you were justified.... And that clears up that!"

"Dysart," said the other, "you don't have to tell me these things."

"Would you rather not have heard them?"

Duane thought a moment.

"I would rather have heard them, I believe."

"Then may I go on?"

"Is there anything more to explain between us?"

"No.... But I would like to say something--in my own behalf. Not that it
matters to you--or to any man, perhaps, except my father. I would like
to say it, Mallett."

"Very well."

"Then; I prefer that you should believe I am not a crook. Not that it
matters to you; but I prefer that you do not believe it.... You have
read enough in the papers to know what I mean. I'm telling you now what
I have never uttered to any man; and I haven't the slightest fear you
will repeat it or use