“For the sacrifice,” Peter finished.

“Well, not too much of a sacrifice, I hope,” Logan temporized “You don’t regret standing by?”

“No, I don’t regret it.”

“Yet your tone sounds sort of odd, as if you were keeping something back.  I don’t see why, either.  I’ve kept my promise.  I’ve explained—­put the whole story in a nutshell, not to bore you too much with my love affairs gone bad.  And what I’ve told you is the Gospel’s own truth, old man, whether you believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Peter.  “I know it to be the devil’s own lie.”

As he spoke he rose, and Logan jumped up, hot and red in the face.

“By Jove!” he sputtered.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know very well,” Rolls insisted.  “I mean—­that you’re a liar.  A damn liar!  The girl didn’t come here because she wanted to come.  And she wouldn’t take a pearl collar or a paper collar from you if you went on your knees.”

“You must be crazy!” Logan stared at him, paler now.  “If you weren’t my guest, in my house, I—­I’d knock you down.”

“Try it,” Peter invited him.  “This is your father’s house, I believe, not yours.  And I don’t call myself your guest.  Neither need you.  I’m a sort of out-of-season April Fool.  At least, I was.  I’m not now.”

“I tell you—­you’re bughouse!” stammered Logan.

“You stand up for a girl you don’t know a damn thing about—–­”

“I’d stand up for any girl against you,” he was cut short again.  “But I do know this girl.  I won’t say how.  I know you’re the dirt under her feet, and if I hadn’t made sure every way that she was out of the house, I’d have set the police onto you as—­as I wouldn’t set terriers onto a rat.”

“You—­you can’t tell me her name—­or anything about her—­I’ll bet!”

“You won’t bet with me.  And neither of us is going to speak her name here.  Shut your mouth on it if you don’t want it stuffed down your throat and your teeth after it.  You’ve been a villain.  That’s the one thing that stands out in this business.  God! do you think you could make me believe anything wrong about that girl—­you?  Why, if an angel looped the loop down from heaven to do it I wouldn’t.  Tell me what store she’s working in.  That’s what I want to hear about her from you, and nothing else.”

Logan was not red in the face now.  He had grown very pale.  In truth, he was frightened.  But he was angry enough to hide his fear for the present.  He determined that Rolls should not get a word out of him.

“That’s all you want to hear, is it?” he mimicked.  “If you know so much about her, you can jolly well find out the rest for yourself or keep off the grass.  I don’t intend—–­”

The sentence ended in an absurd gurgle, for the hand of Peter Rolls was twisting his high collar.  It was horribly uncomfortable and made him feel ridiculous, because he was taller and bigger and older than Rolls.  He tried to hit Peter in the face with his fist, but suddenly all strength went out of him.  The hated face vanished behind a shower of sparks.