"I understand you. You don't intend that as impertinence; you're a square man, Mallett--a man who suffers under the evil in others. And your question to me meant that you thought me not entirely hopeless; that there was enough of decency in me to arouse your interest. Isn't that what you meant?" "Yes, I think so." "Well, then, I'll answer you. There isn't much left of me; there'll be less left of my fortune before long. I've made a failure of everything, fortune, friendship, position, happiness. My wife and I are separated; it is club gossip, I believe. She will probably sue for divorce and get it. And I ask you, because I don't know, can any amends be made to--the person you mentioned--by my offering her the sort and condition of man I now am?" "You've got to, haven't you?" asked Duane. "Oh! Is that it? A sort of moral formality?" "It's conventional; yes. It's expected." "By whom?" "All the mess that goes to make up this compost heap we call society.... I think she also would expect it." Dysart nodded. "If you could make her happy it would square a great many things, Dysart." The other looked up: "You?" "I--don't know. Yes, in many ways; in that way at all events--if you made her happy." Dysart stepped forward: "Would you be nice to her if I did? No other soul in the world knows except you. Other people would be nice to her. Would _you_? And would you have the woman you marry receive her?" "Yes." "That is square of you, Mallett.... I meant to do it, anyway.... Thank you.... Good-night." "Good-night," said Duane in a low voice. He returned to the house late that night, and found a letter from Geraldine awaiting him; the first in three days. Seated at the library table he opened the letter and saw at once that the red-pencilled cross at the top was missing. Minutes passed; the first line blurred under his vacant gaze, for his eyes travelled no farther. Then the letter fell to the table; he dropped his head in his arms. It was a curiously calm letter when he found courage to read it: "I've lost a battle after many victories. It went against me after a hard fight here alone at Roya-Neh. I think you had better come up. The fight was on again the next night--that is, night before last, but I've held fast so far and expect to. Only I wish you'd come. "It is no reproach to you if I say that, had you been here, I might have made a better fight. You couldn't be here; the shame of defeat is all my own. "Duane, it was not a disastrous defeat in one way. I held out for four days, and thought I had won out. I was stupefied by loss of sleep, I think; this is not in excuse, only the facts which I lay bare for your consideration.