“If I had been,” he said, “I am not sure that I should have made the running with you in the field.  That brings me to what I have to say to you.  I wondered for a long time how she brought herself to marry you.  When you came back from your honeymoon I began to understand.  She married you for your money; but if you had chosen, she would have married you for love.”

He blurted out the words hastily, as though he could not trust himself to pause lest he should not say them.

Wingarde stood up suddenly to his full height.  For once he was taken totally by surprise and showed it.  He did not speak, however, and Archie blundered on: 

“I am not your friend.  I don’t say this in any way for your sake.  But—­I am her’s—–­ her friend, mind you.  I don’t say I haven’t ever flirted with her.  I have.  But I have never said to her a single word that I should be ashamed to repeat to you—­not one word.  You’ve got to believe that whether you want to or not.”

He paused momentarily.  The frown had died away from Wingarde’s face, but his eyes were stern.  He waited silently for more.  Archie proceeded with more steadiness, more self-assurance, less self-restraint.

“You’ve treated her abominably,” he said, going straight to the point.  “I don’t care what you think of me for saying so.  It’s the truth.  You’ve deceived her, neglected her, bullied her.  Deny it if you can!  Oh, no, this isn’t what she has told me.  It has been as plain as daylight.  I couldn’t have avoided knowing it.  You made her your wife, Heaven knows why.  You probably cared for her in your own brutal fashion.  But you have never taken the trouble to make her care for you.  You never go out with her.  You never consider her in any way.  You see her wretched, ill almost, under your eyes; and instead of putting it down to your own confounded churlishness, you turn round and insult me for behaving decently to her.  There!  I have done.  You can kick me out of the house as soon as you like.  But you won’t find it so easy to forget what I’ve said.  You know in your heart that it’s the truth.”

Archie ended his vigorous speech with the full expectation of being made to pay the penalty by means of a damaged skin.

Wingarde’s face was uncompromising.  It told nothing of his mood during the heavy silence that followed.  It was, therefore, a considerable shock when he abruptly surrendered the citadel without striking a single blow.

“I am much obliged to you, Neville,” he said very quietly.  “And I beg to apologize for a most unworthy suspicion.  Will you shake hands?”

Archie tumbled off his high horse with more speed than elegance.  He thrust out his hand with an inarticulate murmur of assent.  Perhaps after all the fellow had been no worse than an unmannerly bear.  The next minute he was discussing politics with the monster he had dared to beard in his own den.