_Your letter was unusual enough to interest anyone. Coming from you, it interested me very much. I therefore sent for Mr. John, the pupil to my late agent, and, as I expected, he was able to tell me as much as I wanted to know. I have requested him, should you desire it, so far as he can, to do you the same office. Ask him, and he will tell you what manner of man I am._ _You will wonder why I should take pains to put such information at your disposal. It is because I am willing to strike a bargain with you._ _If you will become my wife, I will give to you absolutely all my title-deeds (including, of course, those of the Manor House) and assign to you every manorial right that I possess. In a word, I will make you the Lady of the Manor._ _Yours faithfully,_ _CHARLES PENDRAGON._ “Why, the man’s mad,” cried Christopher. “Stark, staring. He’s got his dates wrong. This is the sort of deal they did in the Stone Age.” “It sounds,” said Audrey, “as though he meant what he said. I suppose, in your innocence, you gave me a pretty good chit.” “He asked what you were like, and I told him the truth. I never dreamed——” “Of course you didn’t,” said Audrey. “He took jolly good care of that. I know just what he’s like. He’s a brilliant, _blasé_ Gallio—with a pretty wit. He might have done anything: in point of fact, he’s done nothing. When he plays, he plays high: and whether he wins or loses he doesn’t care—with the result that he usually wins. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about Sundial: he doesn’t care about me: we’re pawns. He’d sell his birthright, not for a mess of pottage, but for a cup of spice. That letter’s typical—because it’s a masterpiece. Think what the man who wrote that could have done as a diplomat.” “I don’t see that it’s anything wonderful,” said Christopher John. “It’s a piece of damned impertinence, but——” “Think,” said Audrey. “In effect he says, ‘Your interference was bad form: the only possible excuse for it was a sense of duty too strong to be withstood. Whether you were really so actuated remains to be seen.’” Christopher shrugged his shoulders. “You would write,” he said. “I _had_ to, Christopher. I couldn’t sit still and have everyone so sweet and not raise a finger to help.” The other sighed. “Well, it’s done now,” he said. “I suppose you won’t let me take it up with the brute.” “Take what up?” said Audrey. “This letter, of course.” “But it’s unexceptionable,” said Audrey. “That’s what’s so clever. He stepped out and met me on my own ground. It may be out of bounds, but I can’t curse him for that. I chose it. . . . Besides, if it comes to that, he may be bluffing: but if I like to call his bluff, I’ll bet he pays. And he stands to lose a bit.” “_‘Lose’?_” screamed Christopher. “Oh, the girl’s mad. ‘Lose’?”