"The bond," she interrupted a trifle bitterly, "and I wasn't or couldn't. But ever since then--and before then, too--before you came home, I kept myself. And I'm quite rich, Duke. I have money in the bank. There is no fear for me." "Is it all money?" he said tragically, gloomily. She laid her hand lightly on his knee; the touch thrilled her through and through, but he sat unmoved, looking at the fire. "You can give me all you have ever given me still, dear," she said; "there is no reason why we should not continue to be friends." There was a long pause. Then she began again-- "I promised your father you would destroy the counterpart. Duke, it is far better done. You will feel free, and you don't, somehow, now, though I hoped you would. And I shall be glad. A woman who loves a man cannot bear to stand in the way of his doing his duty--and this is your duty----" He turned to her. "Just what that old harridan said. Curious you two should agree--and you're so different!" "What old harridan?" "Lady Broadway. She has been at me, too. Why can't you women leave a man alone? She wants me to marry her niece, Lady Amabel." Marrion felt a sudden spasm of elemental jealousy. Self-sacrifice was exhilarating in the abstract, in the concrete it was painful. "Did--did you see her?" she asked. "Yes--nice little girl. But--but if this is to be, how will you manage about Andrew? You had to tell him, if you remember." She remembered right well; remembered how even the man's fidelity to his master, his devotion to her, would not stand the strain of what he thought wrong-doing. The difficulty had occurred to her before, but she set it aside now as of small importance in comparison with the destruction of the paper. "Ill manage Andrew," she replied, "if you will only----" He stood up tall and strong and curiously antagonistic. "You are always managing, Marmie. Some day you'll find you've made a mistake. But if you will have it so, I happen to have the paper with me." He took out his pocket-book and handed her an envelope. "You can do as you like with it. Oh, it is the right one!" he added impatiently. "I was looking at it just now. I am not always a fool!" She paused in a half-unconscious search induced by her knowledge of Marmaduke's careless habits. The contents of the envelope, half-pulled out, showed her the printed heading "Cross-keys Inn." She thrust them back hurriedly and dropped the whole into the fire. It flamed up showing his face full of irritation, hers of decision. They watched it flame, fade, sparkle out. Then he turned away. "You've made me feel a scoundrel somehow," he said, "but I suppose I shall get over it in time." "You've no right to say that," she flared out. "You've no right to put that thought into my life. We have done our duty." "Well, don't let's part in anger, anyhow," he said kindly. "I shan't see you for some time. I'm on duty, and then I shall go north for Christmas, and then----"