"I don't want any man's uniform when it's been defiled. You ought to have known that. I'm going to take it off and give it back to you."
He saw the eager surprised look that came into Harry's face and raised his hand in warning—"But not yet. First I'm going to tell your wife the truth and then I'm going to warn the Duc de Vautrin."
Harry started back as though to dodge another blow, the reaction of his venture setting in with the terror of this information.
"Jim!" he whispered, clutching at his arm. "You wouldn't do that, Jim. My God! It's ruin to me—and you too."
"I'm prepared for that——"
"Don't, for God's sake don't! Wait. I've met you half way, haven't I? I'll do anything you say. I'll steer Quinlevin off and drop the thing. It was his idea—not mine. And he wouldn't have thought of it if the old man hadn't shut off the allowance——"
"Tell me the truth," Jim broke in sternly. "How much money did Quinlevin owe you?"
"Twenty thousand dollars——"
"And that was Moira's price——" contemptuously.
"I wanted her. I loved her. I swear to God I did. I love her now. I'd give anything to be able to go to her to-night——"