“Exactly. Well! Now comes the news that does away with that necessity. I’d been expecting the corroboration of it for some days. However, it’s out at last; here.” He tapped the paper. “It means that the alliance Waters-Charrier has been knocked on the head; it means that my firm isn’t going to be quite the almighty concern I hoped it might; but it also means that something—a big thing!—is saved out of the fire: namely, that I needn’t take these drastic measures to avoid Monsieur Charrier’s displeasure. If I don’t want to marry into his family, I can say so if I choose.” (_If—!_ He meant that _now_ Odette and he could show that theirs was nothing but a love-match!) “And if I hadn’t broken off our nominal engagement this morning, Miss Trant, I should be able to do it this afternoon; _now_.” This meant that he was positively eager to get rid of me. Knife-thrust as it was, I was glad to feel it. It spurred me for what I had to do, this time without even being allowed to pick my minute; to rise, smile conventionally, hold out my hand in farewell. He took it lightly, dropping it almost at once. In a tone of unmistakable, undisguised relief he added, “So that’s the end of _that_.” “Yes!” I returned, quite casually enough to deceive a man, though it took my last ounce of effort. “Good-bye!” “Wait a minute. I said ‘the end of _that_,’” took up my late employer. “Now here’s something that begins. Will you sit down again, please?” The influence of the place we were in, I suppose, made me obey him. Again I sat back in the green-leather chair, wondering if it made it better or worse to have this leave-taking so dragged out, wondering why he chose this form of torture. He came and stood above me. He began, quite gently, “I’ve taken your word that that about Vandeleur was an accident, not an appointment. Well, then! If it wasn’t on _his_ account that you had that wire sent to recall you, if it wasn’t because of _him_ you bolted like that from me—from Anglesey,” he spoke more emphatically, “_Why was it?_” Again this cross-examination? What was I to say? I looked desperately about the big room and its handsome fittings, at the side-table where I used to sit with my notes. “_Why?_” he insisted. “Oh!” I cried angrily. “Does it matter?” “Yes, it does. Why did you run away?” I shook my head. He couldn’t _make_ me say.... “_Why?_” he repeated mercilessly. “Was it because of what occurred the morning before that tussle of ours with the Bay, that time you were so reluctantly compelled to save my life?” “Oh, _yes!_ if you must bring that up again!” I threw at him, struggling to call back the helpful, self-respecting anger which I’d been able to feel quite easily then. “It’s all done with now, so——” “So it _was_ because I kissed you.” “_Well?_” He stood looking at me. I couldn’t look at him, but I held my head up and stared hard at a distant pale-green wall.