All this was clear to Roger Carbury. But then it had been equally clear to him that he could not, as a man of honour, assist his own cause by telling a tale,--which tale had become known to him as the friend of the man against whom it would have to be told. He had resolved upon that as he left Montague and Mrs. Hurtle together upon the sands at Lowestoft. But what was he to do now? The girl whom he loved had confessed her love for the other man,--that man, who in seeking the girl's love, had been as he thought so foul a traitor to himself! That he would hold himself as divided from the man by a perpetual and undying hostility he had determined. That his love for the woman would be equally perpetual he was quite sure. Already there were floating across his brain ideas of perpetuating his name in the person of some child of Hetta's,--but with the distinct understanding that he and the child's father should never see each other. No more than twenty-four hours had intervened between the receipt of Paul's letter and that from Lady Carbury,--but during those four-and-twenty hours he had almost forgotten Mrs. Hurtle. The girl was gone from him, and he thought only of his own loss and of Paul's perfidy. 
All this was clear to Roger Carbury. But it was equally clear to him that he could not, as a man of honour, assist his own cause by telling a tale against his friend. What was he to do? The girl whom he loved had confessed her love for the other man - who had been, he thought, a foul traitor to himself! He regarded himself as divided from Montague by an undying hostility. That his love for the woman would be equally undying he was quite sure. Already there were floating across his brain ideas of perpetuating his name in the person of some child of Hetta's - but with the distinct understanding that he and the child's father should never see each other.
