“I’m not a fighting man, Colonel Disney,” he said; “and if I were I should hardly care to fight for a grass widow who made herself common talk by her flirtation with a man of most notorious antecedents. We will say that it never was any more than a flirtation--in spite of Mrs. Disney’s mysterious disappearance after the Hunt Ball, which happened to correspond with Lord Lostwithiel’s sudden departure. The two events might have no connection--more especially as Mrs. Disney came back ten days after, and Lord Lostwithiel hasn’t come back yet.” “I can answer for my wife’s conduct, sir, under all circumstances, and amidst all surroundings. You are the first person who has ever dared to cast a slur upon her, and it shall not be my fault if you are not the last. I tell you again, to your face, that you are a coward and a liar--a coward because you are insolent to a young and lovely woman, and a liar because you insinuate evil against her which you are not able to substantiate.” “Ask your wife where she was at the end of December, the year before last--the year you were in India. Ask her what she had been doing in London when she came back to Fowey on the last day of the year, and travelled in the same train with my lawyer, Mr. MacAllister, who was struck by her appearance, first because she was so pretty, and next because she looked the picture of misery--got into conversation with her, and found out who she was. If you think that is a lie you can go to MacAllister, in the Old Jewry, and ask him to convince you that it is a fact.” “There is no occasion. My wife has no secrets from me.” “I am glad to hear it. Then there is really nothing to fight about except a good deal of vulgar abuse on your part, which I am willing to overlook. A man of your mature age, married to a beautiful girl, has some excuse for being jealous.” “More excuse, perhaps, than a man of your age has for acting like a cad,” said the colonel, turning upon his heel, and leaving Mr. Crowther to his reflections. Those reflections were not altogether bitter. Mr. Crowther felt assured that he had sown the seeds of future misery. He did not believe in the colonel’s assertion that there were no secrets between him and his wife. He had cherished the knowledge of that mysterious journey from London on the last day of the year. He had warned his confidential friend and solicitor to mention the fact to no one else. He had pried and questioned, and by various crooked ways had found out that Isola had been absent from the Angler’s Nest for some days after the Hunt Ball, and he had told himself that she was a false wife, and that Martin Disney was a fool to trust her. As for being called by harsh names, he was too much a man of the world to attach any importance to an angry husband’s abuse. It made him not a sixpence the poorer; and as there had been no witness to the interview it scarcely diminished his dignity. The thing rested between him and his enemy.