cannot refuse his
opponent the satisfaction of his revenge. But perhaps the etiquette has
changed since my time."

His manner was still controlled, but his eyes glittered.

Milbanke cleared his throat.

"My dear Asshlin," he said, "we are surely friends of too long standing
to split hairs in this fashion. What is this revenge that you talk of?
Nothing--a myth--an imaginary justification of honour."

A quick sound of contempt escaped Asshlin.

"And what is every code and every sentiment in the world but an outcome
of imagination?" he cried. "What is it but imagination that herds us
off from the beasts? I'm satisfied to call it imagination. It tells me
that I was worsted last night, and that I'm capable of better things if
I try my luck again. I'm satisfied to follow its promptings--and demand
my revenge!"

For a while Milbanke sat miserable and undecided; then under the goad
of the other's eyes, he did an ill-judged thing. Fumbling nervously for
his letter-case, he rose from his seat and walked across to the
fireplace.

"There is nothing for you to revenge," he said agitatedly. "There was
no play last night. It's cancelled. I cancel it."

With tremulous haste, he pulled out the letter-case, extricated
Asshlin's cheque, and dropped it into the fire.

There was a pause--a pause of tremendous moment--in which he stood
aghast at his own deed. Then Asshlin turned on him, his face purple and
convulsed with rage.

"You dare to insult me? You dare to insult me in my own house? You dare
to imply that it was the money--the damned money, that I wanted to win
back?"

Milbanke looked up sharply.

"Good God, no!" he exclaimed with unwonted vehemence. "Such a thought
never entered my mind."

"Then what's the meaning of all this? What is it all driving at?"

Asshlin's hard, handsome face was contorted by passion and his hands
shook.

"Nothing. It's driving at nothing. It is simply that I do not wish to
play."

"And why not?" He suddenly rose, his great body towering above the
other's. "Why not? By God, I'll have an answer!"

"There is no answer."

"No answer? We'll see about that. Who's been lying to you about me?
Who's been carrying scandals about me? Out with it!--out with it!"

Then unexpectedly Milbanke's trepidation forsook him. He suddenly
straightened himself.

"No one," he answered.

"No one? Are you quite sure?"

"No-one!"

"Then what do you mean by this? What do you mean by meddling in my
aff