John Strong planted his feet more firmly on the hearth-rug and knitted his brows.
“Explain,” he said.
Maltravers adopted a more graceful and easy attitude, and spoke as a man who knew something of the world.
“Firstly, sir,” he observed, “you have to prove that I am a scoundrel.”
“True.”
“What are your chances? They are not very great, I must confess. But, Mr. Strong, have you considered the other side of the question. You desire to justify your son.”
“I do.”
“So you think you can improve matters by dragging all concerned again before the world. I presume you know something of the British public, what they would say in the matter. The pot and the kettle—there is much truth in the proverb. Another big scandal; all the old ladies shaking their heads over ‘a depraved and corrupt society.’ ”
John Strong was silent.
“Why not let matters stand?” said the soldier. “Perhaps I am not so bad as you think me. There is another person more deeply concerned, as I have suggested to you, but I will not betray a woman’s secret. If you persist, what will be the result? Two women besmirched the more and your own son rendered doubly ridiculous.”