“No, no,” he cried, hastily. “I cannot accept this!” “Why not? It is the exact sum that you demanded.” If there had been scorn in her voice before, it now seemed to have increased a hundredfold; and the undisguised contempt in her manner showed her disbelief in him. This was very evident to Kenyon; he was too young to be indifferent to a woman’s scorn, and a hot flush arose to his face. When he spoke his voice was sharp and had a ring that she had not heard before. “The reason why I cannot take this is very plain to myself, at least,” said he. “There has been some mistake made. I am not the man you take me to be!” He saw her start at this, and peer at him through the changing light. The veil seemed to obstruct her vision and she flung it aside; for the first time he saw her face. “Dark,” he muttered, “and beautiful. And her eyes! Heavens! I never saw anything like them before.” And her head had a proud, youthful lift to it that caught his attention instantly. It was the sort of thing that he had always admired, but had never seen so completely possessed before. “I am afraid,” she said, coldly, “that I do not quite understand. There can be no mistake. You are the person for whom I was sent.” “I think not.” “Yet you admit that you are just from Rio?” “Yes.” “And that you came in the _Blenheim_?” “I did.” “And you served with General Nunez in Uruguay, did you not?” “Yes.” “Then there is nothing wanting. You are the man. But,” and the dark eyes flashed as she spoke, “I hardly think, were the choice of my making, that I should have fixed upon you.” The continued scorn of her manner piqued him. He was not accustomed to it. “No?” he questioned. “No. You resort to odd and useless evasions. You do not speak straightforwardly. You dodge the point at issue. You seem uncertain as to whether you shall go on, or go back. I expected, at least, to find a man of firmness and decision.” This aroused Kenyon. Youth, as a rule, desires to show to good advantage before a pretty woman. And to this he was no exception. “You do me an injustice,” he said. He spoke calmly, slowly, and evenly enough, but there was heat behind the words. “If I have shown any lack of decision it is because of my natural reluctance to proceed farther in this, to me, incomprehensible affair. I desire to be honest, and have no wish to penetrate deeper into a matter which cannot in the least concern me.” He leaned toward her and continued. “Once again I tell you that I am not the man you take me to be.” She drew back from him as far as the limited space of the cab would permit, but said nothing. He crackled the check paper in his fingers, as he held it up and proceeded. “This money is not for me. I cannot accept it. I think you had better assure yourself that all is right before going any farther.” Sudden anger filled her eyes, even in the dimness he could see it glinting in amber points. But her voice, when she spoke, showed no trace of it.