For a second the older man remained silent and unmoved; then a light gleamed in his colourless eyes. "All right!" he said. "You shall have it. Perhaps it is as well. I came here expecting to see the boy I had known grown into a genial, hospitable, honourable gentleman; instead, I find him an undisciplined, tyrannical egotist." He said it quickly in a rush of unusual vehemence. All his anticipations, all his suspicions, and their subsequent justification--coupled with the new sense of protection towards the children of his early friend--found voice in these words. "You are an egotist, Denis," he repeated distinctly. "A weak, worthless egotist--not fit to have children--not fit to have a friend----" Asshlin stared at him for a moment in speechless surprise; then indignation surmounted every other feeling. With a fierce gesture he took another step forward, his eyes blazing, his hand menacingly clenched. "How--how dare you?" he stammered. "How dare you? By God, if you were a bigger man I'd--I'd----" He paused, choked by his fury. "I know--I know. But I'm not afraid of you. I'm not to be bullied into subjection." Milbanke's temper, difficult to rouse, was stirred at last. He gave his host glance for glance. "You realise what you have said?" Asshlin's dark face was distorted, his voice came unsteadily. "Yes. I regret that I have to say it, but I do not regret saying it. It is wholesome for a man to hear the truth." "Oh, it's wholesome to hear the truth, is it?" "Yes; and I won't see you go to pieces for want of a word. You are a man with obligations, and you are neglecting your obligations. There are other things in life besides cards and horses----" Asshlin suddenly threw back his head. "By God, you're right!" he cried. "And the other things are a damn sight worse. I'd put a good horse before a self-righteous preacher any day." Milbanke's usually pallid face flushed. "You mean that for me?" he asked quietly. Asshlin shrugged his shoulders. "If you like," he said. "If the cap fits----" For a moment Milbanke said nothing; then once again he straightened his small, thin figure. "Very well, Denis," he said, "I quite understand. With your permission I will say good-bye to you now, and to-morrow morning I will catch the earliest train from Muskeere." He looked at his host steadily. Then, through the temper that still mastered him, a twinge of regret, a sense of parting and loss obtruded themselves. With all his intolerable faults, Asshlin still stood within the halo and glamour of the past. "Denis!" he exclaimed suddenly. But the appeal was made too late. Uncontrollable fury--the one power which could efface his sense of hospitality--possessed Asshlin. His pulses pounded; his senses were blurred. With a seething consciousness of insult and injury, he turned again upon his guest. "You can go to hell for all I care!" he cried savagely.