Masters turned his back on Talbot and leaned his arms on the mantel-shelf.
He saw hideous pictures in the empty grate.

The doctor had not sat down. Not a muscle of his big strong body had
moved as he stood and pronounced what was worse than a sentence of
death on Langdon Masters. He averted his dull inexorable eyes, for he
dared not give way to sympathy. For the moment he wished himself dead
--and for more reasons than one! But he was far too healthy and
practical to contemplate a dramatic exit. No end would be served if
he did. Madeleine's sensitive spirit would recoil in horror from a
union haunted by the memory of the crime and anguish of the husband
she had vowed to love and obey. Not Madeleine! His remorseless
solution was the only one.

Masters turned after a time and his face looked as old as Talbot's.

"I'll go if you are quite sure it is necessary. If you have not
spoken in the heat of the moment."

"If I thought for a month it would make no difference. If you
remain, no matter what your circumspection Madeleine will rank in the
eyes of the world with those harlots over on Dupont Street. And be as
much of an outcast. You know this town. You've lived in it for a year
and a half. It's not London, nor even New York. Nothing is hidden
here. It lives on itself; it has nothing else to live on. It is
almost fanatically loyal to its own until its loyalty is thrown in
its face. Then it is bitterer than the wrath of God. You understand
all this, don't you?"