When the three men were left alone, Wyndham drank his 'peg' standing, and departed; but Desmond took Lenox by the arm. "Come into the dufta[1] for half an hour," he said. "I've hardly spoken to you since Monday; and I think we have a thing or two to talk over." Lenox submitted with a smile of resigned amusement, and the study door closed behind them. [1] Study. CHAPTER XXIV. "I dare not swerve From my soul's rights; a slave, though serving thee. I but forbear more nobly to deserve; The free gift only cometh of the free." --O. Meredith. "Well, old chap?" Lenox tried to speak carelessly; to evade the inevitable; for he was sore, with the twofold soreness of insomnia and thwarted passion; and when all a man's nerves are laid bare, he naturally dreads a touch in the wrong place:--hence irascibility. To any one else he would have presented an impenetrable curtain of reserve, of ironical refusal to admit that anything was wrong. But Desmond had the man's tenderness, which is sometimes greater than the woman's: and, as Quita had once said, he was privileged, simply by being what he was. Having set glasses and spirit-decanter within reach of their two chairs, he came over to Lenox, and set both hands on his shoulders. "My dear fellow, it's no use shirking facts," he said straightly. "You're only flesh and blood; and the strain of all this is just knocking you to pieces again. No reflection on your wife. You know what I mean?" "Yes. I know very well what you mean." Lenox spoke with repressed bitterness. "I once heard hell defined as disqualification in the face of opportunity." Desmond turned back to the table, and helped himself to a fresh cigar. "Are you so dead certain about the disqualification?" he asked without looking up: and he heard Lenox grind his teeth. "Oh Lord, man, if you're going on that tack, I'm off." "Indeed you're not. There's a deal more to be said. As far as I understand matters, I imagine that your wife's coming here makes a decided difference in regard to--ultimate possibilities?" "Yes; that's just it. She has cut away the ground from under my feet on all sides." He was thinking of his promise that afternoon, and his voice lost its schooled hardness. "She's set on going through with things, at any price. But then . . she doesn't realise . . ." "Believe me, it wouldn't make the smallest difference if she did. Women are made that way, to our eternal good fortune. Their capacity for loving us in spite of what we are is a thing to go down on one's knees for. You'll appreciate it, one of these days, if you haven't done so already." "Appreciate it? Great Scott, Desmond, haven't I ten times more cause to do so than _you_ can ever have had? But that doesn't wipe out facts or principles."