"If you really don't know what it means," said Stanistreet, "I'll tell you. It means that your wife had only one idea in her head. She didn't understand it in the least, but she stuck to it. She thought of it from morning till night, when other women would have been amusing themselves; thought of it ever since you married her and left her. Unfortunately, it kept her from thinking much of anything else. There were many things she might have thought of--she might have thought of _me_. But she didn't." "Thanks. I know that as well as you. Did it ever occur to you to think of her?" "I shouldn't be here if I hadn't thought of her." "Oh--" Tyson stepped over to the empty fireplace. It was the only thing in the room that was left intact. His attitude suggested that he was lord of the hearth, and that his position was indestructible. "Since you considered your testimony to my wife's character so indispensable, may I ask why you waited five weeks to give it?" Tyson could play with words like a man of letters; he fought with them like the City tailor's son. "You post your letters rather late. I left town an hour after I got hers." "It was the least you could do." "Then I got ill. That also was the least I could do. But I did my best to die too, for decency's sake. Needless to say, I did not succeed." "I see. You thought of yourself first, and of her afterwards. What I want to know is, would you have thought of me, supposing--only supposing--you could have taken advantage of the situation?" "No. In that case I would not have thought of you. I would have thought of her." "In other words, you would have behaved like a scoundrel if you'd got the chance." The twinkle in Tyson's eyes intimated that he was enjoying himself immensely. He had never had the whip-hand of Stanistreet before. "I would have behaved like a damned scoundrel, if you like. But I wouldn't have left her. Not even to marry and live morally ever after. I can be faithful--to another man's wife." The twinkle went out like a spark, and Tyson looked at his hearth. It was dangerous to irritate Stanistreet, for there was no end to the things he knew. So he only said, "Do you mind not shouting quite so loud. She's in there--she may hear you." She had heard him; she was calling to Nevill. He went to her, leaving the door of communication unlatched. "Is that Louis?" she asked. Tyson muttered something which Stanistreet could not hear, and Molly answered with an intense pleading note that carried far. "But I _must_ see him." He started forward at the sound of her voice. I believe up to the very last he clung to the doubt that was his hope. But Tyson had heard the movement and he shut the door.