Cayley, as an impartial judge would view the extraordinary claims of
three desperate litigants. He thought it all over as he sat there
smoking. When the servants came to him to ask him questions or his men
ventured upon matters of business, he answered them directly, decisively,
and went on thinking. His wife had come to take coffee with him at
the usual hour of the afternoon. There was no special strain of manner
or of speech. The voices were a little lower, the tones a little more
decided, their eyes did not meet; that was all. When coffee-drinking was
over the wife retired to her room. Still Houghton smoked on. At length
he saw the horseman entering into the grove of palms before the door. He
rose deliberately from his seat and walked down the pathway.

"Good day to you, Houghton," the horseman said; "we meet again, you see."

"I see."

"You are not overjoyed."

"There's no reason why I should be glad. Why have you come?"

"You remember our last meeting five years ago. You were on your way to
be married. Marriage is a beautiful thing, Houghton, when everything is
right and square, and there's love both sides. Well, everything was
right and square with you and the woman you were going to marry; but
there was not love both sides."

While they had been talking thus, Houghton had, of purpose, led his
companion far into the shade of the palms. He now wheeled upon Cayley,
and said sternly: "I warn you to speak with less insolence; we had better
talk simply."