"It is said"—he hesitated as if the words hurt him—"that your wife accuses you of cruelty. I don't know how the stories started, but I have waited until they reached a point where I felt that they must be stopped—or answered. For the sake of your future—of your work—you must say something, David."
While he listened Blackburn had walked slowly to the window, gazing out on the afterglow, where some soft clouds, like clusters of lilacs, hung low above the dark brown edge of the horizon. For a moment, after the voice ceased, he still stood there in silence. Then wheeling abruptly, he came back to the hearth where the Colonel was waiting.
"Is that all?" he asked.
The Colonel made a gesture of despair. "It is rumoured that your wife is about to leave you."
Blackburn looked at him intently. "If it is only a rumour——"
"But a man's reputation may be destroyed by a rumour."
"Is there anything else?"
As he spoke it was evident to the other that his thoughts were not on his words.
"I am your oldest friend. I was the friend of your mother—I believe in your vision—in your power of leadership. For the sake of the ideas we both try to serve, I have come to you—hating—dreading my task——"
He stopped, his voice quivering as if from an emotion that defied his control, and in the silence that followed, Blackburn said quietly, "I thank you."