"Key down, old top," said Jimsy King again, grinning. "I'm not going to get sore, but I don't want to use up my breath laughing at you. _Skipper_--going back on me!" He did laugh, ringingly. "She hasn't gone back on you; except in her heart. Good God, Jimsy King, what do you think you are to hold a girl like that--with her talent and her success and her future? She's only stuck by you because it was her creed, that's all." "Look here, Cart', I'm not going to argue with you. It's not on the square to Skipper even to talk about it, but don't be a crazy fool. Would she have come to me here--from Italy, if she didn't----" "Yes. Yes, she would! She's pledged to see it through--to stand by you as all the other miserable women have stood by the men of your family,--if you're cad enough to let her." That caught and stuck. "If I'm--cad enough to let her," said Jimsy in a curiously flat voice. But the mood passed in a flash. "It's no use talking like that, Carter. Of course I know I'm not good enough or brainy enough--or _anything_ enough for Skipper, but she thinks I am, and----" "You poor fool, she doesn't think so. I tell you she's only standing by because she said she would. I tell you she cares for some one else." "That's a lie," said Jimsy King with emphasis but without passion. The statement was too grotesque for any feeling over it. Carter stopped raving and snarling and became very cool and coherent. "I think I can prove it to you," he said, quietly. "You can't," said Jimsy, turning and walking toward the door. "Are you afraid to listen?" He asked it very quietly. "No," said Jimsy King, wheeling. "I'm not afraid. Go ahead. Get it off your chest." "Well, in the first place,--hasn't she kept you at arm's length here? Hasn't she insisted on being with other people all the time,--on having me with you?" "Cart', I hate to say it, but that's because she's sorry for you." "And for herself." The murky dimness of the _sala_ was pressing in on Jimsy as it had on the girl, that other day. He was worn with vigil and torn with thirst, sick with dread of what might any moment come to them,--with remorse for bringing Honor there, tormented with his helplessness to save her. Even at his best he was no match for the other's cleverness and now he was in the dust, blaming and hating himself. He stood there in silence, listening, and Carter's hoarse voice, Carter's plausible words, went on and on. "But I don't believe it," Jimsy would say at intervals. "She doesn't care for you, Cart'. She's all mine, Skipper is. She doesn't care for you."