Raine felt embarrassed. He was aware that he had been disingenuous in shifting the whole weight of his disgust and anger on to that one particular point. The direct appeal did not lack manliness, was evidently sincere. It stirred within him the sense of justice. He tried to realize his attitude towards Hockmaster in the case of Katherine being merely a chance acquaintance. Obviously all the complex feelings centering round his love for her ought to go for nothing in his judgment of Hockmaster. Raine was an honourable man, who hated hypocrisy and prejudice and unfair dealing, and the detection of them in himself brought with it an irritating sense of shame. “I have the privilege of the friendship of the lady in question,” he replied to the American, “and therefore felt a personal resentment of your confidence last night.” “Mr. Chetwynd,” returned Hockmaster, leaning forward earnestly with his elbows on the table, “there is only one way in which I can make things square, and that is to take you into my confidence still further.” “Oh, for God's sake, man, let us drop the subject!” “No. For I think you'll be pleased. You are a straight, honourable man, and I want to act in a straight, honourable way. Do you see that?” “Perfectly,” said Raine. “But don't you also see that this is a matter that cannot be discussed? A woman's name cannot be bandied about by two men. Come, we will let bygones be bygones.” He rose, grasping his stick, as if to depart, and held out his hand. But the American, somewhat to Raine's astonishment, made a deprecating gesture and also rose to his feet. “No. Not yet,” he said blandly. “Not before you feel sure I am doing the straight thing. You called me a cad, last night, didn't you?” “Yes. But perhaps I was hasty.” “Oh no. I own up. Honest Injun, as we say in America. I was a cad. Only, having called your friend a cad, you owe it to him to allow him to retrieve his character in your eyes.” “Why should you be so anxious to do so?” asked Raine, struck with the man's earnestness. “Because I've got sort of fond of you,” replied the American. “Will you listen to me for two minutes?” “Certainly.” “Then I'll tell you that I'm going direct, this very minute, to ask that lady to marry me. “To marry you?” cried Raine, with the blood in his cheeks. “It would be an insult!” “It's a pity you think so,” returned Hockmaster reflectively. “I wish I could unmake my mind, but you see it's all fixed up already.” “What's fixed up?” “That I should ask her. Mr. Chetwynd, this is the first chance I have had. For eight years I have lost every trace of her. If you know a more honourable way of repairing the wrong, you just tell me.” “Man alive! leave Geneva and never let her hear of you again.” “I will, if she refuses me. That's fixed up too. I must be going.” “Mrs. Stapleton is ill, and can't see you this morning,” said Raine desperately.