“You know, Jim,” he said solemnly, “she never did this, never in the world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind.  She’s been hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power—­some scoundrel.  No—­I’ll not harm her, I’ll not hurt a hair of her head—­but when I meet him—­”

“By the way, whom do you suspect?” said De Gollyer, who had long withheld the question.

“Whom?  Whom do I suspect?” exclaimed Lightbody, astounded.  “I don’t know.”

“Impossible!”

“How do I know?  I never doubted her a minute.”

“Yes, yes—­still?”

“Whom do I suspect?  I don’t know.”  He stopped and considered.  “It might be—­three men.”

“Three men!” exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could smile at such a moment.

“I don’t know which—­how should I know?  But when I do know—­when I meet him!  I’ll spare her—­but—­but when we meet—­we two—­when my hands are on his throat—­”

He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth.  De Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military sternness.

“Steady, steady again, dear old boy.  Buck up now—­get hold of yourself.”

“Jim, it’s awful!”

“It’s tough—­very tough!”

“Out of a clear sky—­everything gone!”

“Come, now, walk up and down a bit—­do you good.”

Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the floor.

“Everything smashed to bits!”

“You adored her?” questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone.

“I adored her!” replied Lightbody explosively.

“Really now?”

“I adored her.  There’s nothing left now—­nothing—­nothing.”

“Steady.”

Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and said, as a man might renounce an inheritance: 

“You’re right, Jim—­but it’s hard.”

“Good spirit—­fine, fine, very fine!” commented De Gollyer in critical enthusiasm, “nothing public, eh?  No scandal—­not our class.  Men of the world.  No shooting!  People don’t shoot any more.  It’s reform, you know, for the preservation of bachelors.”

The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady himself.

“It isn’t that, it’s, it’s—­” Suddenly his fingers encountered on the table a pair of gloves—­his wife’s gloves, forgotten there.  He raised them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head.

“Take time—­a good breath,” said De Gollyer, in military fashion, “fill your lungs.  Splendid!  That’s it.”

Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers.

“Why, Jim,” he said finally, “I adore her so—­if she can be happier—­happier with another—­if that will make her happier than I can make her—­well, I’ll step aside, I’ll make no trouble—­just for her, just for what she’s done for me.”