Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight--perhaps ten
months--a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food
abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury--an
emotional jury--may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You
see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to
appear a person totally unfit to live with."

Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his
fingers.

"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge,
middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic--no nerves left. Your
photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and
corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a
matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the
brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your
brother, et cetera, et cetera! _Voila!_ What will you have gained?"

He ceased, well pleased--he had convinced himself.

Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a
man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity:

"I shall have avenged my honor."

De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up
in an easy running attack his battery of words.

"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic,
isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack--you won't do it. You won't be an