Here he beamed down into the beautiful grey eyes of the said wife who was still holding his arm. As he finished she pinched gently the flesh of his arm. This sent a thrill through him; it was a kiss of sorts and had much the same effect as the real thing. Joy noted the change in his voice as he went on: “I so respected your wishes, sir, that I did not actually ask in words Joy to be my wife until I should have obtained your permission to address myself to her. If you will look at that letter you will see that it was written at Ceann-da-Shail, my place in Ross-shire--days before I posted it.” “Then if you did not ask her to marry you; how is it that you are now married--according to the Sheriff?” He thought this a poser, and beamed accordingly. Athlyne answered at once: “When two people love each other, sir, as Joy and I do, speech is the least adequate form of expression. We did not want words; we knew!” Again Joy squeezed his arm and they stood close together in a state of rapture. The Colonel, with some manifest hesitation, said: “With regard to what the Sheriff spoke of as ‘real cause of scandal,’ was there. …?” “That, sir,” said Athlyne interrupting with as fierce and truculent an aspect as had been to the Colonel at any moment of the interview “is a subject on which I refuse to speak, even to you.” Then after a pause he added: “This I will say to you as her father who is entitled to hear it: Joy’s honour is as clear and stainless as the sunlight. Whatever has taken place has been my doing, and I alone am answerable for it.” Whilst he was speaking Joy stood close to him, silent and with downcast eyes. In the prolonged silence which ensued she raised them, and letting go Athlyne’s arm stepped forward towards her father with flashing eyes: “Father what he says is God’s truth. But there is one other thing which you should know, and you must know it from me since he will not speak. He is justified in speaking of my honour, for it was due--and due alone--to his nobility of character that I am as I am. That and your unexpected arrival. For my part I would have----” “Joy!” Athlyne’s voice though the tone was low, rang like a trumpet. Half protest it was, half command. Instinctively the woman recognised the tone and obeyed, as women have obeyed the commands of the men they loved, and were proud to do so, from Eden garden down the ages. “Speak on, daughter! Finish what you were saying.” His voice was strangely soft and his eyes were luminous beneath their shaggy white brows. Joy’s answering tone was meek: “I cannot, father. My … Mr.--Lord Athlyne desires that I should be silent.” She was astonished at his reply following: “Well, perhaps he is right. Better so!” Then in _sotto voce_ to Athlyne: “Women should not be allowed to talk sometimes. They go too far when they get to self-abasement!” Athlyne nodded. Again silence which Colonel Ogilvie broke: