"The whole thing makes me look rather an ass, I think," said he.
"No doubt you acted impulsively," Edge allowed. It was fully equivalent to an assent.
"Good heavens, I'd been brought up to it! It had always been the fact of my life." He made no pretences about the matter now. "It never occurred to me to think of any mistake. That certificate"—it lay on the table still—"was the sword of Damocles." He laughed as he spoke the hackneyed old phrase. "And
Damocles knew the sword was there, or there'd have been no point in it."
The two had rather lost track of his mood. They looked at one another again.
"You've a lot to think of. We'll leave you," said the Colonel.
"But—but what am I to do?" Old Neeld's voice was almost a bleat in his despair. "Am I to tell people at Blentmouth?"
"The communication should come from an authoritative quarter," Edge advised.
"It's bound to be a blow to her," said Neeld. "Suddenly lifted up, suddenly thrown down! Poor girl!"
"Justice is the first thing," declared Wilmot Edge. Now he might have been on a court-martial.