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business. The most he could tell himself in excuse was that he had meant no harm; and he was not fond of that plea.

He had plenty to think of as his north-bound train whirled off. For one thing he was leaving without knowing exactly how Gasparri was. If he died it would be awkward, but Tony did not believe for a moment that he would. . . .

“I hope Paolo won’t get into trouble over this,” he thought. “He’s not dangerously hurt, anyhow. . . . I rather wonder he didn’t kill me, it was a near thing; if I—Brute!—Poor Yolanda. . . . I was a fool and worse. Of course I was only playing, but it is not fair to drag a woman into a dangerous game, unless you have something to give her—as I have not. It’s lucky she doesn’t care. . . . ’Pon my soul, I forgot all about the husband, except as an added interest to my side of the business. And, after all, he has no right to resent—H’m-m! . . . Well, perhaps I should, in his place. . . . But while—Well, again, why did he say those vile things to her? Poor Yolanda—and she didn’t care a straw for me either. (Well, perhaps at the end she thought she did, because things looked serious just then.) It seems I’ve had a lucky escape, according to Paolo. I wonder is (was?) Gasparri such a good shot? (No, he’s not dead.) I was angry. I don’t quite know what happened, but I think I hit him. Yes, I suppose that was how he came to be on the floor. . . . I was so angry I hadn’t time to be frightened of the duel—silly little duel! fancy coming out of it with a scratch that you can’t feel until you move. . . . Oh, I have never written to Alison. Not for nearly . . . not since I met Yolanda.”

He wrinkled his forehead and stared out at the flying landscape, smiling rather ruefully. He was very much ashamed of himself.

“I don’t suppose I’ve ever been so much in the wrong before . . . (and that’s saying something). Anyhow, I’ve