The girl slowly drew off her engagement ring. “Yes,” she replied seriously, “I do not think I could marry him now, even were I to retain my inheritance. My respect for him seems to have been suddenly obliterated. Will you take him back this ring, please? And tell him that the man I marry must love me for myself alone. Say, also, that, as I mean to carry out my intention of joining the Christian Church, I am sure that there would often be contention between us on that account; therefore the best thing--the only thing--that I can do, is to dissolve our engagement.” “And your decision is final?” “Absolutely.” Herbert made a wry face. “I cannot say I relish being the bearer of such a message,” he said, placing the ring in his pocket-book. “Still, as you have given it to me, I suppose I had better deliver it. I dare say Salmon will round on me for having incensed you against him; and perhaps he will prefer to receive your refusal from your own lips. I am afraid there will be a _mauvais quart d’heure_ for me when I get back to Brunswick Terrace.” There was. David Salmon received the news with an oath, and broke into a fit of passionate rage. After having cursed women in general, and Celia Franks in particular, he declared that he would take to drink. When he had calmed down, however, he thought better of it, and decided to console himself with Dinah Friedberg. Dinah, so he said, besides being madly in love with him, possessed no silly notions about religion, and her father, although he did not make a pretence of being well off--as did Karne--would at least endeavour to provide his daughter with a suitable marriage dowry. The next morning he presented himself at Woodruffe as though nothing had happened. Celia would have preferred not to see him, but could not very well refuse him the interview. It was a painful one for both of them; and Celia, at least, felt relieved when it was over. David implored, beseeched, and entreated her to reconsider her decision, and refused at first to take back the few presents he had given her, although he accepted them in the end. Finding that all his pleading was of no avail, he revenged himself by indulging in cheap sneers at her new-found faith, taunting her in the way best calculated to wound her feelings. Finally, he encountered Ralph Wilton just as he was going out, and told the clergyman what he thought of him in no measured terms. Wilton himself was calm and unresentful, and his demeanour had the effect of making Salmon a little bit ashamed of himself. He had the grace to attempt an apology, at any rate, and even went so far as to shake hands when he left. Mr. Wilton accompanied him as far as the gate; then returned to the drawing-room, to find Celia in tears. The sight filled him with dismay. “Miss Franks!” he exclaimed, hardly knowing how to express himself. “I--I am so sorry. I wish I could help you. All this has been too much for you, I am afraid.”