"So _this_ is your love," she said. "This is what it means? Then I thank God I have hitherto only known the 'cold travesty,' which at least has kept me pure, and held me high. What? Would you drag _me_ down to the level of the woman you have scorned for a dozen years? And, dragging me down, would you also trail, with me, in the mire, the noble name of the man whom you have ventured to call friend? My husband may not have given me much of those things a woman desires. But he has trusted me with his name, and with his honour; he has left me, mistress of his home. When he comes back he will find me what he himself made me--mistress of Shenstone; he will find me where he left me, awaiting his return. You are no longer speaking to a widow, Lord Airth; nor to a woman left desolate. You are speaking to Lord Ingleby's wife, and you may as well learn how Lord Ingleby's wife guards Lord Ingleby's name, and defends her own honour, and his." She lifted her hand swiftly and struck him, with the ivory fan, twice across the cheek. "Traitor!" she said, "and coward! Leave this house, and never set foot in it again!" Jim Airth staggered back, his face livid--ashen, his hand involuntarily raised to ward off a third blow. Then the furious blood surged back. Two crimson streaks marked his cheek. He sprang forward; with a swift movement caught the fan from Lady Ingleby's hands, and whirled it above his head. His eyes blazed into hers. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her. She neither flinched nor moved; only the faintest smile curved the corners of her mouth into a scornful question. Then Jim Airth gripped the fan in both hands; with a twist of his strong fingers snapped it in half, the halves into quarters, and again, with another wrench, crushed those into a hundred fragments--flung them at her feet; and, turning on his heel, left the room, and left the house. CHAPTER XXIII WHAT BILLY KNEW Ronald and Billy had spoken but little, as they sped to the railway station, earlier on that afternoon. "Rummy go," volunteered Ronald, launching the tentative comment into the somewhat oppressive silence. Billy made no rejoinder. "Why did you insist on coming with me?" asked Ronald. "I'm not coming with you," replied Billy laconically. "Where then, Billy? Why so tragic? Are you going to leap from London Bridge? Don't do it Billy-boy! You never had a chance. You were merely a nice kid. I'm the chap who might be tragic; and see--I'm going to the bank to despatch the wherewithal for bringing the old boy back. Take example by my fortitude, Billy." Billy's explosion, when it came, was so violent, so choice, and so unlike Billy, that Ronald relapsed into wondering silence. But once in the train, locked into an empty first-class smoker, Billy turned a white face to his friend. "Ronnie," he said, "I am going straight to Sir Deryck Brand. He is the only man I know, with a head on his shoulders."