"No," came the angry retort. "I have decided. I withdraw my offer to overlook your offense. At whatever cost, Miss Vanrenen must be protected until her father learns how his wishes have been disregarded by a couple of English bandits." "Sorry," said Medenham coolly. He alighted in the roadway, as the driving seat was near the curb. A glance into the vestibule of the hotel revealed Cynthia, in motor coat and veil, giving some instructions, probably with regard to letters, to a deferential hall-porter. Walking rapidly round the front of the car, he caught Marigny's shoulder with his left hand. "If you dare to open your mouth in Miss Vanrenen's presence, other than by way of some commonplace remark, I shall forthwith smash your face to a jelly," he said. A queer shiver ran through the Frenchman's body, but Medenham did not commit the error of imagining that his adversary was afraid. His grip on Marigny's shoulder tightened. The two were now not twelve inches apart, and the Englishman read that involuntary tension of the muscles aright, for there is a palsy of rage as of fear. "I have some acquaintance with the _savate_," he said suavely. "Please take my word for it, and you will be spared an injury. A moment ago you offered to treat me like a gentleman. I reciprocate now by being willing to accept your promise to hold your tongue. Miss Vanrenen is coming.... What say you?" "I agree," said Marigny, though his dark eyes blazed redly. "Ah, thanks!" and Medenham's left hand busied itself once more with the fastening of the glove. "You understand, of course?" he heard, in a soft snarl. "Perfectly. The truce ends with my departure. Meanwhile, you are acting wisely. I don't suppose I shall ever respect you so much again." "Now, you two--what are you discussing?" cried Cynthia from the porch. "I hope you are not trying to persuade my chauffeur to yield his place to you, Monsieur Marigny. Once bitten, twice shy, you know, and I would insist on checking each mile by the map if you were at the wheel." [Illustration: "Now, you two--what are you discussing?" _Page 148_] "Your chauffeur is immovable, mademoiselle," was the ready answer, though the accompanying smile was not one of the Count's best efforts. "He looks it. Why are you vexed, Fitzroy? Can't you forgive your friend Simmonds?" Cynthia lifted those demure blue eyes of hers, and held Medenham's gaze steadfast. "I trust you are not challenging contradiction, Miss Vanrenen?" he said, with deliberate resolve not to let her slip back thus easily into the role of gracious employer. She did not flinch, but her eyebrows arched a little. "Oh, no," she said offhandedly. "Simmonds told me his misfortunes last night, and I assumed that you and he had settled matters satisfactorily between you." "As for that," broke in the Count, "I have just offered my car as a substitute, but Fitzroy prefers to take you as far as Hereford, at any cost."