ourse, if you hadn't been jealous of him, I might have thought
better of your _character_. But then, you wouldn't have been you."

"D'you know," drawled Major Vandyke, "I've a sort of idea that it was
Captain March who was jealous of me!"

"It isn't _in_ him to be jealous, in the way you mean. But you've asked
why I dislike you, and you interrupted me before I could finish.
'Dislike' is a very small word for what I feel. I loathe you, because
you've done your best to ruin him. There are some things I _know_.
Partly, I blame myself because of what I said to you about Di in camp.
Perhaps--just perhaps--you mightn't have done what you have done if I'd
held my tongue. That's why, if I've had a hand in pulling Eagle March
down, I'd cut it off, and the other one, too, if I could have a hand in
lifting him up."

"Sounds complicated--and Irish!" sneered Vandyke. "In your country a man
is presumed to be innocent until he's proved guilty; yet you accuse me
of guilt on no proof whatever. Evidently you've wormed things out of
Tony Dalziel, and drawn your own conclusions to suit yourself. So like a
woman! But my conscience is clear as crystal. Personal feeling has had
nothing to do with my actions. Every man will give me credit for that.
I'm sorry for March. He's either insane with jealousy, or he's allowed
himself to be tricked. Privately, not publicly, of course, I'm inclined
to believe in the former theory; and I think most people would agree
with me if they knew all the circumstances----"

"As you put them!"

"Let's go back to my object in inflicting myself upon you to-night, Lady
Peggy. Eagleston March is the god of your idolatry. Let's take that for
granted. He's bound to suffer. He brought it on himself, whatever you--a
child--may think to the contrary. Do you want to make him suffer more or
less?"

"Is it necessary to answer?" I asked.

"Hardly. But I have to impress upon you that it's partly in those hands
of yours, which you would 'cut off' for him. The full immensity of his
guilt need never come out. It's not intended that it should come out.
Still, if you are going to treat me like the dirt under your feet--the
man who will soon be your sister's husband--and kick up a scandal, I
shan't lie still. I'm not a saint. If you mean to fight against me with
Diana, or anybody else, or even set people talking by your behaviour, by
Jove! I'll hit back. I shan't take much trouble to do my part in keeping
the secret."

"You