“Frankly, I do. Why didn’t you make a clean breast of it when you found it was I who had married your daughter? You might have trusted me, Colonel, as if I had had no tongue; you know that. And you saw me fall into a villainous trap and live on that infamous woman’s money. O God! The thought of it! When just a whisper would have put me right.” “Well, well, the murder’s out now, and one sees things differently. I knew what your wife’s influence over you was, and I thought if I breathed a word it would get to her ears and set her clamouring for her pitiful title. A man’s a weak thing in a beautiful woman’s hands, as no one knows better than I. I’ll do what I can for you; I’m bound to, and I will. What do you propose to do?” “Resign my commission, give back every cursed penny I can, and get employment abroad to work off the rest.” Lord Florencecourt looked up, startled. “Resign your commission! You mustn’t think of that. The worst’s over now; it is I, not you, who have anything to fear from the devil. Give up your house, of course; I’ll allow you five hundred, six hundred a year. You are quite free from any obligation, for I acknowledge your wife is my daughter, and her mother would force me in any case to contribute to her support. Do you see?” “Quite. I accept your offer, Colonel, in this way. You shall allow Nouna five hundred a year until we have cleared off every farthing we have spent under a misapprehension. But for the future my wife and I will live on my earnings and what I have besides of my own.” “But why leave the army?” “Cowardice, partly. I feel disgraced and beaten down, and I’ve lost heart for the old ambitions. And--I have other reasons. Over here there is a constant risk of Nouna’s meeting----” He hurried this last sentence, but stopped abruptly in the middle of it. “You might exchange. Come now, that would solve all difficulties. Nobody would know the style you used to keep here, and you could make a fresh start quietly.” George considered the proposal for a few seconds, and then shook his head. “Look here, Colonel, it’s no use denying it; I’m broke--as surely as a man who’s gone to the dogs on his own account; the only difference is that I’ve been thrown to ’em. There’s an awfulness about the thing I’ve been made to do that has bowled me over--pride, self-respect, and all. I shall work round again all right, I’ve no doubt, but I can’t set to it in England or in the army. Help me to get away as fast as I can; it’s the greatest kindness you can do me.” He had made up his mind past gainsaying. The Colonel was deeply moved, self-reproach adding force to his compassion. “If you won’t be persuaded,” he began slowly, “I suppose I must help you your own way. How would Paris suit you?” “Any place would suit me where I could get anything to do. And Paris would be lively for Nouna,” he added, half to himself.