have been wondering," she said, "whether if I set myself to it as
to a task I could make a man for a moment forget himself--did I say
forget?--I mean betray!"

"If I were that man," he remarked smiling, "I will answer for it that
you could."

"You! But then you are only a boy, you have nothing to conceal, and you
are partial to me, aren't you? No, the man whom I want to influence is a
very different sort of person. It is Scarlett Trent."

He frowned heavily. "A boor," he said. "What have you to do with him?
The less the better I should say."

"And from my point of view, the more the better," she answered. "I have
come to believe that but for him my father would be alive to-day."

"I do not understand! If you believe that, surely you do not wish to see
the man--to have him come near you!"

"I want him punished!"

He shook his head. "There is no proof. There never could be any proof!"

"There are many ways," she said softly, "in which a man can be made to
suffer."

"And you would set yourself to do this?"

"Why not? Is not anything better than letting him go scot-free? Would
you have me sit still and watch him blossom into a millionaire peer,
a man of society, drinking deep draughts of all the joys of life, with
never a thought for the man he left to rot in an African jungle? Oh, any
way of punishing him is better than that. I have declared war against
Scarlett Trent."

"How long," he asked, "will it last?"

"Until he is in my power," she answered slowly. "Until he has fallen
back again to the ruck. Until he has tasted a little of the misery from
which at least he might have saved my father!"

"I think," he said, "that you are taking a great deal too much for
granted. I do not know Scarlett Trent, and I frankly admit that I am
prejudiced against him and all his class. Yet I think that he deserves
his chance, like any man. Go to him and ask him, face to face, how your
father died, declare yourself, press for all particulars, seek even for
corroboration of his word. Treat him if you will as an enemy, but as an
honourable one!"

She shook her head.

"The man," she said, "has all the plausibility of his class. He has
learned it in the money school, where these things become an art.
He believes himself secure--he is even now seeking for me. He is all
prepared with his story. No, my way is best."

"I do not like your way," he said. "It is not like you, Ernestine."

"For the sake of those whom one loves,"