“Bosh,” laughed Ray.  “He can publish a thousand and no one would believe them of you.”

“He knows that.  But he knows, too, that no matter how untrue, it would connect her name with a subject shameful to the purest woman that ever lived.  He knows that the scavengers of gossip will repeat it, and gloat over it.  That the filthy society papers will harp on it for years.  That in the heat of a political contest, the partisans will be only too glad to believe it and repeat it.  That no criminal prosecution, no court vindication, will ever quite kill the story as regards her.  And so he hopes that, rather than entail this on a woman whom I love, and on her husband and family, I will refuse a nomination.  I know of such a case in Massachusetts, where, rather than expose a woman to such a danger, the man withdrew.  What should I do?”

“Do?  Fight him.  Tell him to do his worst.”

Peter put his hand on Ray’s shoulder.

“Even if—­if—­it is one dear to us both?”

“Peter!”

“Yes.  Do you remember your being called home in our Spanish trip, unexpectedly?  You left me to bring Miss De Voe, and—­Well.  They’ve bribed, or forged affidavits of two of the stewards of the ‘Majestic.’”

Ray tried to spring forward towards Curlew.  But Peter’s hand still rested on his shoulder, and held him back, “I started to kill him,” Peter said quietly, “but I remembered he was nothing but the miserable go-between.”

“My God, Peter!  What can I say?”

“Ray!  The stepping aside is nothing to me.  It was an office which I was ready to take, but only as a sacrifice and a duty.  It is to prevent wrong that I interfered.  So do not think it means a loss to me to retire.”

“Peter, do what you intended to do.  We must not compromise with wrong even for her sake.”

The two shook hands, “I do not think they will ever use it, Ray,” said Peter.  “But I may be mistaken, and cannot involve you in the possibility, without your consent.”

“Of course they’ll use it,” cried Ogden.  “Scoundrels who could think of such a thing, will use it without hesitation.”

“No,” said Peter.  “A man who uses a coward’s weapons, is a coward at heart.  We can prevent it, I think.”  Then he turned to Curlew.  “Tell Mr. Maguire about this interview.  Tell him that I spared you, because you are not the principal.  But tell him from me, that if a word is breathed against Mrs. Rivington, I swear that I’ll search for him till I find him, and when I find him I’ll kill him with as little compunction as I would a rattlesnake.”  Peter turned and going to his dressing-room, washed away the ink from his hands.

Curlew shuffled out of the room, and, black as he was, went straight to the Labor headquarters and told his story.

“And he’ll do it too, Mr. Maguire,” he said.  “You should have seen his look as he said it, and as he stood over me.  I feel it yet.”