"What I have done for you, O'Moy?" Wellington's slight figure
stiffened perceptibly, his face and glance were cold and haughty.
"You mistake, I think, or else you did not hear. What I have done,
I have done solely upon grounds of political expediency. I had
no choice in the matter, and it was not to favour you, or out of
disregard for my duty, as you seem to imagine, that I acted as
I did."

O'Moy bowed his head, crushed under that rebuff. He clasped
and unclasped his hands a moment in his desperate anguish.

"I understand," he muttered in a broken voice, "I - I beg your
pardon, sir."

And then Wellington's slender, firm fingers took him by the arm.

"But I am glad, O'Moy, that I had no choice," he added more gently.
"As a man, I suppose I may be glad that my duty as
Commander-in-Chief placed me under the necessity of acting as I
have done."

Sir Terence clutched the hand in both his own and wrung it
fiercely, obeying an overmastering impulse.

"Thank you," he cried. "Thank you for that!"

"Tush!" said Wellington, and then abruptly: "What are you going
to do, O'Moy?" he asked.