“Men don’t forgive that sort of thing from men,” she continued presently. “There’s no reason why a woman should be forgiven, I suppose, even if the man she has insulted is her own son.” “No,” John answered thoughtfully. “There is no more reason for forgiving it. But there’s every reason to forget it, if you can.” “If you can. I don’t wish to forget it.” “You should, mother. Of course, you brought me up to believe--you and my father--that to doubt a man’s word is an unpardonable offence, because lying is a part of being afraid, which is the only unpardonable sin. I believe it. I can’t help it.” “I don’t expect you to. We’ve always--in a way--been more like two men, you and I, than like a mother and her son. I don’t want the allowances that are made for women. I despise them. I’ve done you wrong, and I’ll take the consequences. What are they? It’s a bad business, Jack. I’ve run against a rock. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll give you half my income, and we can live apart. Will you do that?” “Mother!” John Ralston fairly started in his surprise. “Don’t talk like that!” “There!” exclaimed Mrs. Ralston, hanging up the hearthbrush on her left, after sweeping the feathery ashes from the shining tiles within the fender. “It will burn now. Nobody understands making a fire as I do.” She rose to her feet swiftly, drew back from John, and sat down in the other of the two easy chairs which stood before the fireplace. She glanced at John and then looked at the fire she had made, clasping her hands over one knee. “Smoke, won’t you?” she said presently. “It seems more natural.” “All right--if you like.” John lit a cigarette and blew two or three puffs into the air, high above his head, very thoughtfully. “I’m waiting for your answer, Jack,” said Mrs. Ralston, at last. “I don’t see what I’m to say,” replied John. “Why do you talk about it?” “For this reason--or for these reasons,” said Mrs. Ralston, promptly, as though she had prepared a speech beforehand, which was, in a measure, the truth. “I’ve done you a mortal injury, Jack. I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s not. I’ll tell you why. If any one else, man or woman, had deliberately doubted your statement on your word of honour, you would never have spoken to him or her again. Of course, in our country, duelling isn’t fashionable--but if it had been a man--I don’t know, but I think you would have done something to him with your hands. Yes, you can’t deny it. Well, the case isn’t any better because satisfaction is impossible, is it? I’m trying to look at it logically, because I know what you must feel. Don’t you see, dear?” “Yes. But--”