"What I am going to tell you I do for both our sakes. You will probably think I'm a cad, but I'm taking the risk." He was sitting up but did not meet her eyes.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded.
"You know that—apart from you—Carruthers and I were pals?"
"Yes," she said wondering. And suddenly she burst out petulantly. "What is it you want to say?"
"He was no better than other men," he replied bluntly. "It is wrong that you should sacrifice your life to a memory, wrong that you should worship an idol with feet of clay."
"I loath parables," she said coldly. "Will you tell me exactly what you mean about feet of clay?" The note in her voice was not lost on the man by her side.
"I don't like telling you—under other conditions I wouldn't. But I do it for both our sakes."
"Then, for goodness sake, do it!"
"I came across it accidentally at the Gordon Hotel at Brighton. He stayed there, whilst he was engaged to you, with a lady whom he described as Mrs. Carruthers. It was on his last leave."
"Why do you tell me this?" she asked after a silence; her voice was low and a little husky.