His face lengthened. He looked away again. “That is not all, Mrs. Quinn,” he said, very gently. “The truth is ... I am not of a ... a nature to make a woman happy.” This she deemed mere coyness, and swept it briskly aside. “I’d take the risk of that.” “But ... but ... you see I’ve lived this roving life of mine so long, that I do not think I could ever settle. Besides, ma’am, what have I to offer?” “If I am satisfied with my bargain, why take thought for that?” “I must. The fact is, I am touched, deeply touched. I did not think I had it in me to arouse the affection, or even the regard, of any woman. Even so, ma’am, whilst it moves me, it does not change my purpose. I am not a marrying man.” “But....” He raised a hand, dominantly, to check her. He had found the correct formula at last, and he meant to keep to it. “Useless to argue, ma’am. I know my mind. My reasons are as I have said, and so is the fact. I am touched; I am prodigiously touched, and grateful. But there it is.” His firmness turned her white with mortification. To have offered herself, and to have been refused! To have this beggar turn his shoulder upon her, finding her so little to his taste that not even her thirty thousand pounds could gild her into attractiveness! It was a bitter draught, and it called up bitterness from the depths of her soul. As she considered him now with her vivid blue eyes, her face grew mottled. She was moved to sudden hatred of him. Nothing short of killing him could, she felt, extinguish that tormenting hate. She felt impelled to break into violent recriminations, yet could find nothing upon which to recriminate. If only she could have thrown it in his face that he had afforded her encouragement, trifled with her affections, lured her on, to put this terrible affront upon her, she might have eased herself of some of the gall within her. But she could charge him with nothing that would bear the form of words. And so she considered him in silence, her abundant bosom heaving, her eyes growing almost baleful in their glance, whilst he stood awkwardly before her, his gaze averted, staring through the open window, and making no attempt to add anything to what already he had said. At last on a long indrawn breath she moved. “I see,” she said quietly. “I am sorry to have....” “Please!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hand again to arrest her, an infinite pity stirring in him. She walked to the door, moving a little heavily. She opened it, and then paused under the lintel. Over her shoulder she spoke to him again. “Seeing that things is like this, perhaps you’ll make it convenient to find another lodging not later than to-morrow.” He inclined his head a little in agreement. “Naturally....” he was beginning, when the door closed after her with a bang and he was left alone. “Phew!” he breathed, as he sank limply into his chair again. He passed a hand wearily across his brow, and found it moist. CHAPTER X BUCKINGHAM DISPOSES