"I can assure you--" Mannering began.

"Let me finish," Borrowdean pleaded. "I realized the situation at a
glance. Your attitude I was not so much surprised at, but the attitude of
the Duchess, I must confess, amazed me. I came to the conclusion that I
had found my way into a forgotten corner of the world, where the lotos
flowers still blossomed, and the sooner I was out of it the better. Now I
think that brings us, Mannering, up to the present time."

Mannering turned from the window, out of which he had been steadfastly
gazing. There was a strained look under his eyes, and little trace of the
tan upon his, cheeks. He had the air of a jaded and a weary man.

"That is all, then," he remarked. "I can still catch my train."

Borrowdean held out his hand.

"No," he said. "It is not all. This explanation I have made for your
sake, Mannering, and it has been a truthful and full one. Now it is my
turn. I have a few words to say to you on my own account."

Mannering paused. There was a note of something unusual in Borrowdean's
voice, a portent of things behind. Mannering involuntarily straightened
himself. Something was awakened in him which had lain dormant for many
years--dormant since those old days of battle, of swift attack, of
ambushed defence and the clamour of brilliant tongues. Some of the old
light flashed in his eyes.

"Say it then--quickly!"