"Of course I do!" cried Theodora jumping up with the greatest alacrity. "Now more than ever, since it is the remote cause that I am Lady Blood and will one day be Marchioness of Longacre. Come, hurry up with the key." Sir John gazed at her with a sort of stupefied amazement. "Rash girl!" he cried. "Do you know what you ask?" "Perfectly," answered Theodora, coming up to him and holding out a little jeweled hand, "Give me the key." "Great Heavens!" shouted Sir John, "this is intolerable. God forgive me for marrying an American! I will never marry another. I shall have to silence her as I did Fatima." "Give me the key, _you old goose_!" screamed Theodora in his face, and shaking his arm violently. At that instant their eyes met. Sir John's were blazing with anger, while in Theodora's there shone a fire that--no, it could not be--yes, yes, it was--that made something like fear come into Sir John's handsome devilish face. She tightened her grip on his arm, and occasionally jerked it up and down to emphasize her remarks, while she cried: "I want that key. You may well say" (shaking his arm furiously) "that you'll never marry another American girl. You'll never have the chance" (shake, shake). "When I married you I was willing to love you, just as Anne does that Scotch angel of hers, but I am not going to put up with your hectoring ways like poor Fatima." (Shake.) "You thought I'd be afraid of you--ha! ha! I'm an American girl, you great booby. Don't look at me in that way" (shake, shake, shake), "but give me the key this instant, or I'll order the carriage and drive to the nearest magistrate and denounce you on your own confession!" (Shake, with variations.) Sir John's countenance during this tirade was a study. At first a furious, helpless rage, then over-powering amazement, followed by a hideous fear, and at last an abject, helpless, hysterical breaking down. He fell on his knees at Theodora's feet, clutching her gown, and bursting out into wild lamentations, he screamed: "Spare me! Spare me!" "The key," panted Theodora, with a relentless smile on her beautiful sensitive mouth. The miserable man feeling in his trousers' pocket produced a key--with the identical blood stain on it left by poor Fatima. "Now," said Theodora, letting him go and transferring the key to her pocket, "I don't want to see in the closet--no doubt it is a horrid place--but I shall keep hold of this and see that you don't get it again." Her contemptuous tone aroused a faint spark of the spirit that made the worm turn. He called up all his coward's courage, and, rising to his feet, said sullenly: "All is not yet over between us." "Do go away," replied Theodora scornfully. "You bore me to death with your heroics. But I think you've found out now what it is to be married to an American girl. It's like a mustard plaster--wholesome, if not pleasant, and not to be ignored." * * * * *