"By all means. But I shall not take this as your final answer." "My husband will answer you—not I." "Do you know what that will mean?" "It will mean that I intend to have no secrets from him." "You misunderstand me. Do you know the consequences? Your husband, as a man of honour, will challenge me. I shall have the choice of weapons, and I swear to you that I will kill him." She said nothing. Her eyes had dilated, and every trace of colour had left her face; but she retained her attitude of proud defiance, and he went past her through the open door. "You see, I can be patient," he said, looking back at her. "My sister-in-law is giving a ball on the 18th. If you are there I shall understand. If not——" He shrugged his shoulders. "No doubt your husband will see his way to settling Mr. Ingestre’s troubles. As they stand, they are likely to cost him his collar. _Auf Wiedersehen, gnädige Frau_." He was gone. She waited until the last echo of his steps had died on the wooden stairway, then she tottered forward and sank into Wolff’s chair, her face buried in her hands. She did not cry, and no sound escaped her lips. She sat there motionless, bereft of thought, of hope, almost of feeling. The end, the crisis to which she had been slowly drifting was at hand. It seemed to her that she heard the roar of the cataract which was to engulf her. And there was no help, no hope. It was thus Miles Ingestre found her an hour later. Knowing that Arnim was out, he had donned a dressing-gown and now stood staring blankly at his sister, his hair disordered, his yellow face a shade yellower from the last day’s dissipation. "Why, Nora!" he said sleepily. "What’s the matter, old girl?" She looked up. His voice gave her back the power at least to act. "Rittmeister Bauer has been here," she said. "He gave me this. Is it true?" He took the paper which she held towards him and studied it, rocking on his heels the while in an uneasy silence. "Yes, it seems true enough. What the devil did he give it you for?" "He says the creditors are likely to press payment—and—and—Wolff will be held responsible. Oh, Miles, what have you done? What have you done?" The last words broke from her like a cry of despair. They seemed to penetrate the thickness of Miles’s phlegm, for he laid his hand on her shoulder, his lips twitching with a maudlin self-pity.