'I should remind you--though I am sure there would be no occasion to do so--that debts of honour always _must_ be paid. It would be impossible for you to show your face in society with the rumour that you had played and lost and repudiated hanging round you. Besides, I suppose you do not wish to be added to the distinguished list of peers who have figured in the Bankruptcy Court?' 'Of course not,' said Forestfield, whose pale cheeks were gradually becoming very red; 'but it's all devilish fine to say "pay"--how are you to do it when you have no money? The truth is, I have been disappointed. I've just heard some news which has completely upset my calculations, and I'm infernally disappointed!' And he threw himself into the chair. 'I know it,' said Uffington, bending towards him across the table, 'and I know you! Know you to be as mean a scoundrel, as contemptible a blackguard, as poor a trickster, as is to be found even in this city! Bah, don't attempt that!' he cried, catching Forestfield's uplifted arm by the wrist and holding it. 'I'm a stronger man than you, though I'm ten years older, and I haven't forgotten the lessons I used to take from Alec Keene in the old days. You would have no chance standing up against me; and as for a duel, I could take care of myself there also if I found--as I very much doubt--that you are in a position to call any gentleman to account. There,' he said, throwing Forestfield's arm away from him, 'I tell you I know you and all your miserable scheming! You say you have been disappointed, and for once you speak the truth. Months since, when you first began to suspect that your treatment of your wife had driven her to wrong-doing, you determined to profit by her sin. You would get her divorced, you said to yourself; and once free you would form an alliance, not again with a pretty trusting girl, but with some woman whose wealth would enable you to indulge in the costly dissipations of play, &c. to which you had become addicted. You looked round and made your selection, working the oracle with all that tact which I grant you possess. When your story became public, and Lady Forestfield was turned from her home, you carried your bleeding heart to Palace-gardens, there to have it bound up by Miss Vandervelde, the American heiress. Ha, ha! you see I am tolerably well informed! They could not show you too much compassion, those kindhearted people; and even when you were bold enough to hint that you would shortly be in a position to bestow your hand and title again, they were not too sensitive to bid you be silent, for they are true Republicans and dearly love a lord. But then your common sense failed you; you thought the game secure, and coming over here, launched out into those pleasures in which alone you have real enjoyment. The manner of your life in Paris has been made known in Palace-gardens, and you have received an intimation that you need show your face there no more.'