"Temptation doesn't stain when it's resisted, does it ?" Sir Terence trembled.

But he controlled himself.
"Nay, now, that's a question for the casuists.

They right answer you that it depends upon the temptation." And he asked point-blank: "What's tempting you ?" Tremayne was in a mood for confidences, and Sir Terence was his friend.
But he hesitated.

His answer to the question was an irrelevance.
"It's just hell to be poor, O'Moy," he said.
The adjutant turned to stare at him.

Tremayne was sitting with his head resting on one hand, the fingers thrusting through the crisp fair hair, and there was gloom in his clear-cut face, a dullness in the usually keen grey eyes.
"Is there anything on your mind ?" quoth Sir Terence.
"Temptation," was the answer.