“You know, it really is not my fault,” protested the Prince of Darkness. “It is the will of God. Good-bye, Lady Surplice. To you others I need only say _au revoir_, for you are all miserable sinners.” The company, said Dwight-Rankin, were sore distressed at Lady Surplice’s plight, for the good lady was dear to them; and they would fain have done all they could to ease her mind as she whimpered, in an access of helplessness and despair: “Prince, cannot you--Oh!--can’t you prevail on God to let me--Oh, dear!--to let me waive the distinction just this once? I simply can’t face the idea of being parted from my friends--please, Prince, won’t you be a dear and prevail on Him to----” “Enough, madam!” thundered the voice of the fallen child of light. “Go you to salvation! Behold, am I not the enemy of Jehovah? These are my final words, Lady Surplice. Prepare yourself for your ascent. Let your soul yearn for Heaven and your spirit accommodate itself to the idea of walking forever in the groves of Paradise to the songs of the harp and the lyre. Begone!” “Begone?” said the Lady Amelia indignantly. “That is a harsh word to give a lady in her own house!” “Surely,” snapped de Travest, “you are not so wanting in manners as to drink a lady’s wine and then kill her!” “What can I do, my friend? It is the immemorial curse of thirteen, and the super-added curse of the spilled salt. And I thought, as Lady Surplice is the only one among you who is going to Heaven, that it would be appreciated in me as an act of courtesy to allow her precedence in death.” “Please, may I say one word?” begged Shelmerdene, her eyes pitifully on the despairing face of her hostess. “I have been Muriel Surplice’s friend for many years, she has on several occasions been very kind and good to me, and I cannot sit calmly by and watch her being wronged. Sir,” said Shelmerdene to Satan, “this lady you would so recklessly consign to Heaven has committed a crime every bit as heinous as that for which Mrs. Amp is now suffering indigestion.” “A crime?” cried Lady Surplice gladly. “Bless you, Shelmerdene dear! But what crime was it?” “Shelmerdene,” said Satan gently, “are you mocking me? Was it to be mocked by you that I gave you charm, beauty and good sense, such a combination of virtues as never was known before? Was it to be mocked by you that I inspired a youth to give you a name which, although it is not your real name, becomes you better than any real name could?” “This lady,” cried Shelmerdene, “once had a lover----” “Scarcely a crime,” said Lucifer. “Heaven has long since given up rejecting women who have had lovers. The angels protested that they found none but plain women wherever they walked in Paradise.” “But she killed him!” cried Shelmerdene. “Come, Shelmerdene!” said Dame Warp bitterly: “No decent woman--I said no _decent_ woman--ever kills her lover.” “Shelmerdene, are you sure I did?” sighed Lady Surplice. “Are you quite sure, dear? Did I really kill him?”