"One moment of your valuable time, if you please, Mr Rossett. You are fond of running away when the situation becomes a little inconvenient to yourself. But on this, I hope, our last meeting, I wish to say a few words to you, which it is well you should hear. May I presume to trespass on your time for a few seconds longer?" There was still in her tones the same bitter note of sarcasm. But by this time, Guy had recovered himself a little, and was able to muster a remnant of dignity. "My time is at your disposal," he replied quietly. "You have not acted the part of a gentleman, Mr Rossett. You were supposed to be my husband's friend; you pretended to be mine. Certain events occurred, the nature of which it is easy to guess, which caused you to think my friendship was no longer desirable. That is the truth, is it not? Be frank for once, if a diplomatist can ever be frank." She dominated the situation. Rossett could only stammer forth a shamefaced admission that it was the truth. "You admit it. Would you not have played a more manly part, if you had come to me with a frank and proper explanation of those events?" "That is just what I ought to have done," said Guy Rossett humbly. He had never admired her more than now. Up to the present moment he had no idea that this dainty, slender woman, more or less of a butterfly, had such spirit in her fragile frame. "Instead of that," pursued Violet Hargrave in her inflexible, vibrating tones, "you adopt a device pursued by many men I know, by the type of man who lacks moral courage. I am afraid I shall hurt you a little now, but I don't mind because you have hurt me, and I want to cry quits. You adopted the coward's device of running away from the woman to whom you were afraid to tell the truth." Rossett was utterly beaten. He could not say a word in self-defence. He stood speechless under the lash of her scorn, her not unjustifiable indignation. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I will keep you no longer, Mr Rossett. For some years we were rather intimate friends. To-day we are strangers. As a stranger, I will bid you good-bye." And Guy Rossett was happy to escape. He had never felt more humiliated in his life. He put himself into a taxi, and drove straight to the St James's Club, beloved of diplomatists. He ruminated ruefully over his discomfiture at the hands of the sharp-tongued Mrs Hargrave. "Some women have the knack of making a man feel like a worm," he thought bitterly. "Mary has it in her quiet, incisive way. Violet has it to perfection." The young widow entered the sanctum of the moneylender. Outwardly, her demeanour was calm, but in her breast a volcano was raging. Her pride had been humbled, her hopes ruthlessly crushed. She was raging with all the resentful impotence of the woman scorned. Jackson met her with outstretched hands, and took both of hers.