It seemed an eternity before Ashton spoke.

"If you've been listening----" he began bl.u.s.tering.

He moistened his dry lips.

"What I said is the truth," he broke out spluttering. "You were in Paris with...." But the name was never spoken--Micky's clenched fist shot out and struck him right in the mouth.

In a moment the room was in an uproar; half a dozen men rushed at Micky and pinned his arms.

"Mellowes--for G.o.d's sake--if Hooper comes in...."

Ashton had staggered back against the wall; his mouth was cut and bleeding; he was swearing horribly.

Micky was crimson in the face; the veins stood out like cords on his forehead; he was straining every nerve to free himself from his captors.

"Apologise!" he gasped. "Apologise, you dammed cad!"

Ashton laughed savagely.

"Apologise! What for? It's the truth, and you know it. Apologise! I'll repeat it.... I say that you were in Paris three weeks ago with Esther Shepstone, one of the girls from Eldred's...."

Micky suddenly stopped struggling, but his breath came in deep gasps as he spoke. He looked round at the faces of the other men.

"I know most of you--here," he said in a laboured voice. "And most of you know me--and you know that I'm not a d.a.m.ned liar like Ashton; and I know that you'll believe me--believe me--when I tell you that the lady who was with me in--in Paris--three weeks ago--is my wife ...

we've been married some time--and it is solely by her wish that it has been kept a secret."

If Micky had dropped a bomb in the room it could hardly have created more consternation. The incredulity on the faces of the men around him would have been amusing to an onlooker, but to Micky the whole thing was tragedy.

He had brought Esther to this with his blundering quixotism; he was nearly beside himself with remorse.

If he had been free he would have half killed Ashton. His hands ached to get at him; to take him by his lying throat and choke the breath from his body.

He looked at the men around him with pa.s.sionate eyes.

"I've never given any of you cause to doubt my word yet," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "And I'm sure you'll agree with me that this man should be made to retract what he said and apologise."

"Certainly--he ought to apologise. It's disgraceful--infernally disgraceful," said a man who had been listening to Ashton's story eagerly enough a moment ago.

"What do you say, gentlemen?"

There was a chorus of a.s.sent. The men who had been holding Micky's arms let him go.

Ashton backed a step away.

His face was livid, his eyes furious, but he knew that there was no other course open to him; n.o.body in the room had any sympathy with him now.

"I apologise," he said savagely. "I didn't know that--the--lady--Mellowes had married--the lady."

His tone added that even now he did not believe it; he edged away to the door and disappeared.

Micky dropped into a chair; he looked thoroughly done up. Some one pushed a gla.s.s of whisky across to him. There was an uncomfortable silence. Perhaps they were all feeling guilty; perhaps they all remembered with what relish they had listened to this spicy bit of scandal.

"Never could stand Ashton," some one said presently, in gruff abas.e.m.e.nt. "Worm--the man is!--perfect outsider!"

There were several grunts of a.s.sent; the sympathy was decidedly with Micky.

After a moment he rose to his feet.

"I suppose an apology is due from me too," he said; he spoke with difficulty. "But I think any of you--in the same circ.u.mstances----"

He waited a moment.

"Quite right--certainly.... Should have done the same myself."

Micky smiled faintly.

"And I am sure you won't let this go any further--for--for my wife's sake," he added.

They pressed round him, shaking him by the hand and rea.s.suring him.

Micky took it for what it was worth. He knew that those of them who were married men would go straight home and tell their wives of the scene at Hoopers', and he knew how speedily the story would spread.

He got away as soon as he could and left the house.

He never gave Marie another thought, till he found himself out in the street and walking away through the fresh spring night.

He took off his hat and let the air blow on his hot forehead; his hand still trembled with excitement.

He tried to think, but his thoughts would not come clearly. When he got back to his rooms he asked Driver for a stiff brandy. The man looked at his master diffidently, and asked if anything were the matter.

Micky laughed.

"Why? Do I look as if there is?" He glanced at himself in the mirror.

His face was very white.

"No, there's nothing the matter. I'm tired, that's all."

Driver turned to the door, but Micky called him back.

"You've been with me a good many years, Driver," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"And you've been a faithful servant."

"Thank you, sir."

The man's stolidness did not change a fraction.

Micky took a gulp at the brandy.