He bent forward across the table and began to play absently with his empty glass.
"Marriage is all right," he said. "But only those fit to enter possess the keys to the magic institution. And they find there what they expected. The rest of us jimmy our way in, and find ourselves in an empty mansion, Clydesdale."
For a long while they sat there in silence; Desboro fiddling with his empty glass, the other, motionless, his ponderous hands clasped on his knees. At length, Desboro spoke again: "I do not know how it is with you, but I am not escaping anything that I have ever done."
"I'm getting mine," said Clydesdale heavily.
After a few moments, what Desboro had said filtered into his brain; and he turned and looked at the younger man.
"Have these rumours——" he began. And Desboro nodded:
"These rumours—or others. These happen not to have been true."
"That's tough on her," said Clydesdale gravely.
"That's where it is toughest on us. I think we could stand anything except that they should suffer through us. And the horrible part of it is that we never meant to—never dreamed that we should ever be held responsible for the days we lived so lightly—gay, careless, irresponsible days—God! Is there any punishment to compare with it, Clydesdale?"