“I came to talk to you about Nan,” he replied with reluctance.  “But—­”

“Talk away, then!”

“Well, it’s very difficult to say what I have to tell you.  You see, Trenby, this ghastly accident of yours makes a difference in—­”

Roger interrupted with a snarl.  His arms waved convulsively.

“Lift me up,” he commanded.  “I can’t do it myself.  Prop me up a bit against the pillows. . . .  Oh, get on with it, man!” he cried, as Barry hesitated.  “Nothing you do can either help or hurt me.  Lift me up!”

Obediently Barry stooped and with a touch as strong as a man’s and as tender as a woman’s, lifted Roger into the desired position.

“Thanks.”  Roger blurted out the word ungraciously.  “Well, what about Nan?” he went on, scowling.  “I suppose you’ve come to ask me to let her off?  That’s the natural thing!  Is that it?” he asked sharply.

“Yes,” answered Barry simply.  “That’s it.”

Rogers face went white with anger.

“Then you may tell her,” he said, pounding the bed with his fist to emphasise his words, “tell her from me that I haven’t the least intention of releasing her.  She’s a contemptible little coward even to suggest it.  But that’s a woman all over!”

“It’s nothing of the sort,” returned Barry, roused to indignation by Roger’s brutal answer.  He spoke with a quiet forcefulness there was no mistaking.  “Nan knows nothing whatever about my visit here, nor the purpose of it.  On the contrary, had she known, I’m quite sure she would have tried to prevent my coming, seeing that she has made up her mind to marry you as soon as you wish.”

“Oh, she has, has she?” Roger paused grimly.  A moment later he broke out:  “Then—­then—­what the devil right have you to interfere?”

“None,” said Barry gravely.  “Except the right of one man to remind another of his manhood—­if he sees him in danger of losing it.”

The thrust, so quietly delivered, went home.  Roger bit his under lip and was silent, his eyes glowering.

“So that’s what you think of me, is it?” he said at last, sullenly.

The look in Barry’s eyes softened the stern sincerity of his reply.

“What else can I think?  In your place a man’s first thought should surely be to release the woman he loves from the infernal bondage which marriage with him must inevitably mean.”

“On the principle that from him who hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath, I suppose?” gibed the bitter voice from the bed.

“No,” answered Barry, with simplicity.  “But just because if you love a woman you can’t possibly want to hurt her.”

“And if she loved you, a woman couldn’t possibly want to turn you down because you’ve had the damnedest bad luck any man could have.”

“But does she love you?” asked Barry.  “I know—­and you know—­that she does not.  She cares for someone else.”