Mr. Hazlewood stood outside. He had not gone to bed that night. He had taken off his coat and now wore a smoking-jacket.
"I knew that I should not sleep to-night, so I sat up," he began, "and I thought that I heard voices here."
Over Thresk's shoulder he saw Stella Ballantyne standing erect in the middle of the room, her shining gown the one bright patch of colour. "You here?" he cried to her, and Thresk made way for him to enter. He advanced to her with a look of triumph in his eyes.
"You here—at this house—with Thresk? You were persuading him to continue to hold his tongue."
Stella met his gaze steadily.
"No," she replied. "He was persuading me to the truth, and he has succeeded."
Mr. Hazlewood smiled and nodded. There was no magnanimity in his triumph.
A schoolboy would have shown more chivalry to the opponent who was down.
"You confess then? Good! Richard must be told."
"Yes," answered Stella. "I claim the right to tell him."
But Mr. Hazlewood scoffed at the proposal.