"No, I wasn't, Joyce," he said. "God knows I'm sorry for the poor devil--I always have been; but there's nothing in the world that matters to me now except you. I--I lost my temper when you said you wouldn't come. You didn't mean it, did you? Lyndon can never be anything to you; he is dead to all of us. At the best he can only be a skulking convict hiding from the police in South America or somewhere. You come with me; you shall never be sorry for it. I've plenty of money, Joyce; and I'll give you the best time a woman ever had." "And if I refuse?" asked Joyce quietly. It was evident from the sound that George had taken a step towards her. "Then Lyndon will go back to Dartmoor and stop there till he rots and dies." There was a short pause, and then very clearly and deliberately Joyce gave her answer. "I think you are the foulest man in the world," she said. "It makes me sick to be in the same room with you." The gasp of fury and astonishment that broke from George's lips fell on my ears like music. He was so choking with rage that for a moment he could hardly speak. "Damn you!" he stuttered at last. "So that's your real opinion, is it! That's what you've been thinking all along! Trying to use me to help that precious convict lover of yours--eh?" I heard him come another step nearer. "I'll make you pay for this, anyhow," he snarled. "Sick at being in the same room with me, are you? Then by God I'll give you some reason--" With a swift jerk I flung open the door and stepped in over the threshold. "Not this time, George dear," I said. If the devil himself had shot up through the floor in a crackle of blue flame, I don't think it could have had a more striking effect on my late partner. With his mouth open and his face the colour of freshly mixed putty, he stood perfectly still in the centre of the room, gazing at me like a man in a trance. For a second--a whole beautiful rich second--he remained in this engaging attitude; then, as if struck by an electric shock, he suddenly spun round with the obvious intention of making a dart for the door. The idea was distinctly a sound one, but it was too late to be of any practical value. Directly he moved I stepped in, and catching him a smashing box on the ear with my right hand sent him sprawling full length on the carpet. Joyce laughed gaily, while lounging across the room Tommy set his back against the door and beamed cheerfully on the three of us. "Quite a little family party," he observed. Joyce was in my arms, and we were kissing each other in the most shameless and unabashed way. "Oh, my dear," she said, "I hope you haven't hurt your hand." "It stung a bit," I admitted, "but I've got another one--and two feet." I put her gently aside. "Get up, George," I said. He lay where he was, pretending to be unconscious. "If you don't get up at once, George," I said softly, "I shall kick you--hard."