Francis' voice, however, when he recommenced his diatribe, was
calm and matter-of-fact enough.
"You see," he continued, argumentatively, "I was morally and
actually responsible for the man's being brought back into
Society. And far worse than that, I was responsible for his
being thrust back again upon his wife. Ergo, I was also
responsible for what she did that night. The matter seems as
plain as a pikestaff to me. I did what I could to atone, rightly
or wrongly it doesn't matter, because it is over and done with.
There you are, old fellow, now you know what's been making me
nervy. I've committed wholesale perjury, but I acted according
to my conscience and I think according to justice. The thing has
worried me, I admit, but it has passed, and I'm glad it's off my
chest. One more liqueur, Andrew, and if you want to we'll talk
about my plans for the future."
The brandy was brought. Wilmore studied his friend curiously,
not without some relief. Francis had lost the harassed and
nervous appearance upon which his club friends had commented,
which had been noticeable, even, to a diminishing extent, upon
the golf course at Brancaster. He was alert and eager. He had
the air of a man upon the threshold of some enterprise dear to
his heart.
"I have been through a queer experience," Francis continued
presently, as he sipped his second liqueur.
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