"I can't compel you to read this letter," he said in the same studiously calm voice. "I warn you that your honour is gravely interested in its contents, and I will give you five minutes in which to decide. If you still persist in your determination, I have no course left but to send copies of it to some of Rainham's most intimate friends, and to your sister, Mrs. Lightmark." He had his watch in one hand, but his gaze, curiously ironical, followed the direction of Charles's irresolute eyes, and the five minutes had not elapsed before he realized--and a touch of triumph mingled with his immense contempt of the man and his pompous unreality--that Charles's resolution had succumbed. He stretched out his hand for the letter, unfolded it deliberately, and read it once, twice, three times, with a judicial slowness, which the other, who was now curiously moved, found exasperating. When at last he looked up at Oswyn he shaded his eyes with one hand, but his face remained for the rest imperturbable and expressionless. The painter saw that his discretion was larger than he had imagined. If the reading had been disagreeably illuminative--and Oswyn believed that under his surface composure he concealed, at least, a terrible wound to his pride--he was not going to allow this impression to appear. "I might suggest that this document is a forgery," he said after a moment. Oswyn indulged in a little, harsh laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "That would be too fatuous, Mr. Sylvester." "I might suggest it," went on Charles slowly. "Perhaps, then, you will be surprised when I tell you that I believe it to be genuine. May I ask, Mr. Oswyn, why you move in this matter?" "As Rainham's friend," said Oswyn quickly, "I intend to expose the miserable calumny which clouded his last days." "A public scandal would be greatly to be deplored," Charles hazarded inconsequently, in the tone of a man who argued with himself. Oswyn made as if he would have taken up the letter with a gesture of sudden impatience; but Charles intercepted him quickly, and his voice had a grave simplicity in it which arrested the other's attention. "Don't mistake me, Mr. Oswyn; I have not the least desire or intention to suppress this document. I must expect you to judge me harshly; but you will surely see that my honour is as deeply concerned in the redressing of Mr. Rainham's reputation as anyone's can be, only I am naturally desirous of sparing my--of sparing the innocent persons who are unfortunately mixed up in the affair unnecessary pain, the scandal of publicity." "There are certain persons who must absolutely know the truth," said Oswyn bluntly. "If I pledge you my word that the persons whom you mean shall be immediately enlightened, will you leave me to act alone?" The other was silent for a moment revolving the proposition, half surprised at the unwonted humility of the barrister's eagerness. At last he said, with a short, ambiguous laugh: