Dick. Only—for God's sake take care of her, for she doesn't know the meaning of life yet."
His voice was low and steady. The ring of it told Dick that Tempest had turned his face to the heights again, and that it was for himself to call the man back into a hell which he did not care to think of.
"You've put up a good fight," said Tempest, and he suddenly lifted his eyes and smiled. "Don't think I haven't noticed what you've looked like lately. But nature has been too strong for you both—and all a man in my position can do is to give way gracefully. I hope I can do that. I've got my work—and I've got my friend. So you can go into action with a clear conscience, old man," he added, and held his hand out.
Dick did not take it. He backed away with his face white.
"You're all wrong," he said slowly. "I don't want her."
Tempest's eyes were shining and over his whole body glowed that something which made Dick remember the idiotic girl and the Sun-treader.
"There's no need of lies between you and I, Dick," he said gently.
"It is not a lie." Dick moistened his lips and flung out the words savagely. "She was ruining your life and she had to come out of it. So I took her out of it. You'll never get her again. But I don't want her. I never did want her. But she was ruining you."
The bald brutality of each word struck him as he spoke it. But the thing had to be said, and no words conceived by man could soften it. And therefore he did not try. Tempest looked at him. His face was blank, like that of a man in sleep.
"Will you please say that again—all of it?" he said slowly.
Dick said it again. He said it in the same words because they seemed to ring in the air yet. And besides, there were no others. Tempest gave a little sigh. His hand strayed among the brushes on the dressing-table.
"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said. "There's no
