‘No “buts” for me,’ says Moore. ‘I know the meaning of your “but.” Come, who’s the —— scoundrel now?’ ‘You, beyond all doubt,’ says Wyndham. ‘Stand back, man’—as the other makes a lunge towards him—‘and listen to law, if not to reason. You have as much claim on her as the beggar in the street beyond, and you know it.’ ‘I do not.’ Moore shows an air of open defiance. ‘Her mother died in my wife’s house, and my wife died later on and left her to me. That makes me her guardian, I reckon. As for you’—turning upon Wyndham defiantly—‘I wonder you can look an honest man in the face after what you’ve done to her.’ ‘I can look an honester man than you in the face,’ says Wyndham quietly. ‘But let’s come to business. You wanted to marry her—eh?’ ‘She told you that?’ ‘Certainly she told me that.’ ‘She told you most things, it seems to me’—with a sneer that is full of trouble and jealousy. ‘Aren’t you ashamed to repeat them—to me?’ He pauses, and his face grows positively livid. ‘To me, who would have married her fair and square, whilst you—what have you done?’ He steps forward, and makes as though he would clutch at Wyndham’s collar, but the latter flings him backward. ‘Well, what have I done?’ ‘Ruined her, body and soul.’ ‘You are wrong there,’ says Wyndham, who has recovered from his sudden temper, and is now quite calm. ‘You had better sit down and let us talk it over. You are wrong on all counts. I have done her no injury. You are not her proper guardian. She is in a position to support herself.’ ‘She is not,’ says Moore coarsely. ‘But she is, I assure you, if’—with elaborate politeness—‘you will permit me to explain. Miss—what is her name, by the way, Moore?’ ‘That’—with a scowl—‘is for you to find out.’ ‘True. Well, I shall find it out. In the meantime, I suppose you quite recognise the fact that all is at an end about that idea of yours that you have any power over her.’ ‘It would take a good lawyer to convince me of that,’ says Moore insolently. ‘A good lawyer,’ says Wyndham. ‘Well, name one.’ ‘Paul Wyndham, for one.’ Moore laughs sardonically as he says it, and looks at his antagonist as if defying him to question the power of the man he has named. Wyndham smiles. After all, what a compliment this man has paid him! He dips his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, and brings out a leather card-case, and hands it to Moore. The latter opens it. There is a slight pause, then Moore gives him back the case in silence. ‘So you are Paul Wyndham?’ says he. His face has changed colour, but still his bull-dog courage sticks to him. ‘Then you ought to be the more ashamed of yourself.’