“You are nothing of the kind. You are a coward, or you would not persist in taking unfair advantages of me.” He flushed, but refused to get angry. “I have taken no unfair advantage to-night. Only yesterday you accepted my escort before Doreen.” “Only because I was cornered, and you knew it.” He was silent for a space, then returned to the charge. “Why won’t you cry a truce, Paddy?” and his voice was strangely winsome. “No one is hurt now, and you cannot choose but feel in your heart that it was a good thing I went away in time.” To any one less unsophisticated than Paddy, less direct in all her thoughts and actions, less fearlessly independent, such a tone of voice must have been dangerously alluring—coming, moreover, from such as he, with all his advantages, to such as she with all her losses. But Paddy was a soldier to the backbone. Having thrown down the glove and entered the combat, she would give and take no quarter. Personal gain was nothing—personal loss still less—Lawrence was the enemy—the enemy she had declared war against, and until the conduct that had so infuriated her was amply atoned for, she would not only stick to her guns, but was of the stuff to die uselessly beside them for a lost cause. She was her father over again at the sternest moments of his brilliant career. No parleying with the enemy—War. The old charm for once fell on heedless ears. She continued to look rigidly out into the night, with her face averted, and did not even condescend to reply. She was thinking with no small satisfaction that he would no doubt soon be leaving London for a long time. Already arrangements were in progress for Mrs Blake and the girls to go to Mourne Lodge, and it was not in the least likely that Lawrence would accompany them. At any time he had only gone under protest, and that very evening Doreen had expressed curiosity as to where he would go when they departed. The thought that she would probably not see him again for months after to-night, further gladdened and fortified her. When he spoke again she was ready for him. “Well?” he asked, in that most beguiling of voices. “Is it to be a truce, Paddy—for the sake of the old days!” She stared straight before her. “It is only when the old days cease to exist there can be a truce between you and me,” in measured tones. “On account of the old days, and because they will live to our last gasp, I shall never again be your friend.” Then a surprising thing happened—a thing that took her breath away, and left her speechless. Suddenly, from leaning back in his corner, he started up, and bent forward, and seized both her hands in his in a grip of iron.