She was sure it was. It was bad to lie, too, but she was beyond caring. Ambrose never lied. He would lie for her. Ronnie also would lie--for himself. She mused and mused, thinking of Sault--Ambrose Sault. And the red-haired invalid. And this sister of hers whom Ambrose had gone to Steppe about--she laughed quietly. She would have loved to have seen that contest of giants. Could Steppe be browbeaten? It seemed impossible, and yet Ambrose had cowed him. She dreamed that night that she saw Ronald and Sault fighting with reaping hooks--she woke up with a shiver. For in her dream their heads had been exchanged, and Ronnie's face smiled at her from Sault's broad shoulders. It was growing light, she found, when she peeped through the curtains. She went to bed again, but did not sleep any more. It was a coincidence that Ronald Morelle was also awake at that hour. His new responsibility was weighing on him like a leaden weight. She would never let him go. Her wire had terrified him. "There's no end to it!" he said with a groan, "no end." He did not love Beryl; he loved nobody, but there were some girls whom he wanted to see again and again. Evie was one of that kind. He did not want to see Beryl. He pictured himself chained for life to a woman who was now wholly without attraction. To this misery was added a new and unbelievable horror. Steppe called just as Ronald was going out to lunch. At any time Steppe was an unwelcome visitor. In the state of Ronnie's nerves, he felt it impossible that he could support the strain of the big man's company for five minutes. He wished Steppe wouldn't barge in without warning. It was not gentlemanly. "I'm awful glad to see you, Mr. Steppe; when did you get back?" "Last night--I won't keep you a minute. I'm on my way to make a call on that swine Moropulos," he growled. "I want to see you about Beryl." Ronald Morelle's heart missed a beat. Had she told? He turned white at the thought. Luckily Steppe was striding up and down the room, hands in pockets, bearded chin on chest. Ronnie's mouth had gone dry and he had a cold sinking feeling inside him. "Yes--about Beryl," he managed to say. "You're a great friend of hers, huh? Known her for a long time?" Ronnie nodded. "You have some influence with her?" "I--I hope so--not a great influence--" "I am going to marry Beryl. The doctor has probably hinted to you that I have plans in that quarter, huh?" Ronnie swallowed. "No," he said, "I didn't know--my congratulations." "Keep 'em," said the other shortly, "they're not wanted yet. You're a great friend of hers, huh? Go about with her a great deal? I suppose it is all right. I'd pull the life out of you if it wasn't--but Beryl is a good girl--what I want you to do is this; give me a good name. If you have any influence, use it. Get that?" "Certainly," Morelle found voice to say, "I'll do what I can."