"Well," he said at length, "what is it all about? You have come for money, I suppose--women always do. Tell the truth solidly please, I've no time to waste." The sneer in his words was intolerable. "Yes, I have come for money," she replied, "because your son, Major Marmaduke Muir, married me six years ago. I've brought proofs with me." If he wanted the truth he had got it. Bitter as she was, however, the sudden whiteness of the old man's face made her sorry for him. There was something more than anger here. That turned him purple; yet his words were resentful, nothing more. "Then he is a damned fool!" "You didn't write so to him seven years ago, Lord Drummuir," she began. "H'm, so he showed you the letter, did he? No, you behaved well then--and, by God, I made them dance!" The recollection seemed to please; then a sudden thought evidently struck him. "Any children?" he asked. She shook her head. "One--a boy--died. Major Muir had an accident in the tilbury. The child," she paused, her eyes on the far stretches of dazzling white snow, "it--it ransomed my life. I shall never have another." Then with a rush all she had come to say sprang to mind and lips, she held out her hands appealingly. "Lord Drummuir, I wish you would let me tell my story!" "Eh, what?" he replied peevishly. "Well, curse it all, I've been plagued by the gout and those two virtuous frumps for seven months, for Jack Jardine has the jaundice, and you were deuced amusing last time. But, don't stop over there--makes me cold to think of you. Sit there, by the fire, and take off your bonnet; you look better without it. Women with good hair shouldn't wear bonnets." She sat down as he bade her, feeling inclined to cry, he reminded her so much of Marmaduke. He would not spare her any details; it seemed an amusement to him to hear of her doubts, her scruples, and he laughed aloud when she told him how two years ago she had dismissed her lover. "Why?" he sneered. "Come, out with it!" His hard clear eyes peered into hers. "Because I didn't want to injure him, and I don't want to injure him now," she replied. "I haven't come to claim my rights as his wife." "Then what the devil do you want, my lady?" "I want you to do as you did before and give him the money to buy his colonelcy. If you will do this I will never claim to be his wife. He shall be as free, as far as I am concerned, to marry whom you choose." Lord Drummuir sat looking at her with hard clear eyes. "And if I don't," he said at last, "are you going to threaten me with this bogus marriage, for it may be bogus for all I know--eh, what?" Marrion felt that the supreme moment had come; she must stake her all. "No," she answered quietly. "To show you I threaten nothing, there are my marriage lines. Burn them if you will!" She sat quite still while the old man, with fingers that trembled visibly, unfolded the paper she gave him. There was no mistaking its worth. In Marmaduke's bold black writing were the words--