Thus Maltravers had the wit to see that he might turn the situation to his own credit by performing sundry subtle gyrations about the truth. He might victimize John Strong by making a victim of the very woman who trusted him. No very noble strategy this! But, then, who would be the wiser if the trick succeeded, and if John Strong recoiled from sacrificing a woman? Maltravers’ easy sophistry was capable of anæsthetizing his own none too vivid conscience. “Believe me, Mr. Strong,” he began; “let me be frank with you. As an English gentleman, I should be sorry to see a woman’s honor dragged in the mire.” “Don’t preach to me, sir, on honor,” quoth John Strong; “what about my son’s honor?” “Your son, sir, was perhaps more fool than knave.” “Indeed!” “It seems to me, Mr. Strong,” said the soldier, with admirable magnanimity, “that we are both waxing hot over a matter which has passed beyond our control. Let us talk more calmly. What has been done has been done, and we are all of us human. You are aware, of course, that no legal readjustment can be made.” “Fully aware.” The soldier smiled again. “Then I am to understand that your chief desire is to drag me down into the mud.” “Exactly.” “My dear sir, you are mistaken. Your vengeance would not fall upon me, nor should I be the one to suffer.” “You insinuate—” “I make no insinuations, sir. I repeat the suggestion that you only would sacrifice a woman.” John Strong planted his feet more firmly on the hearth-rug and knitted his brows. “Explain,” he said. Maltravers adopted a more graceful and easy attitude, and spoke as a man who knew something of the world. “Firstly, sir,” he observed, “you have to prove that I am a scoundrel.” “True.” “What are your chances? They are not very great, I must confess. But, Mr. Strong, have you considered the other side of the question. You desire to justify your son.” “I do.” “So you think you can improve matters by dragging all concerned again before the world. I presume you know something of the British public, what they would say in the matter. The pot and the kettle—there is much truth in the proverb. Another big scandal; all the old ladies shaking their heads over ‘a depraved and corrupt society.’” John Strong was silent. “Why not let matters stand?” said the soldier. “Perhaps I am not so bad as you think me. There is another person more deeply concerned, as I have suggested to you, but I will not betray a woman’s secret. If you persist, what will be the result? Two women besmirched the more and your own son rendered doubly ridiculous.” The master of Saltire squared his shoulders and looked Maltravers over with his keen, gray eyes. There was much logic in the soldier’s argument, and John Strong, even in his most obstinate mood, was not a man who was blind to prudence. “There is something in all this,” he observed, “but—” “Well, sir?” “I shall stand out for two things.” “State them, Mr. Strong.”