But Farnsworth strode over to the speaker, and spoke to him, sternly but quietly. "Lansing," he said, "it's all up, and you know it! Now, I don't want to have a scene here and now, so you have my permission to go away wherever you like, on condition that you never enter the presence again, of Miss Galbraith or Miss Fairfield." "Ho!" said Lansing, with an attempt at bravado. "You give me your permission, do you? Let me tell you that Miss Galbraith is my promised wife. We have the license, and we're about to be married. It will take more than you to stop us!" "Indeed," said Farnsworth, and putting his hands in his pockets, he gave Lansing a contemptuous glance. "Well, then, I shall have to request assistance. If I tell this constable a good reason why he should detain you long enough to prevent your marriage to Miss Galbraith, would such an argument have any weight with you?" There was an instantaneous change in Horace Lansing's demeanour. From a blustering braggart, he became a pale and cringing coward. But with a desperate attempt to bluff it out, he exclaimed, "What do you mean?" but even as he spoke, he shivered and staggered backward, as if dreading a blow. "Since you ask me," said Farnsworth, looking at him, sternly, "I'll answer frankly, that unless you consent to go away and never again enter the presence of these ladies, I shall inform these policemen of a certain little bank trouble that happened in Chicago----" It was unnecessary to go on. Lansing was abject, and begged in pleading tones that Farnsworth would say no more. "I am going," Lansing stammered, and without a word of farewell to Mona or even a glance at Patty, he walked rapidly away. "Let him go," said Farnsworth. "I can't tell you girls about it, but I'll explain to Mr. Galbraith. Mona, that man is not fit for you to know! He is guilty of forgery and robbery." "I don't believe it!" declared Mona, angrily. "You _do_ believe it," and Farnsworth looked at her steadily, "because you know I would not tell you so unless I knew it to be true." Mona was silent at this, for she did know it. She knew Bill Farnsworth well enough to know that if he made an accusation of that sort, he knew it to be the truth. "But I love him so," she said, sobbing. "No, Mona, you don't love him." Bill spoke very gently, and as he laid his hand on Mona's shoulder, she raised her eyes to look into his kind, serious face. "You were not much to blame, Mona; the man fascinated you, and you thought the foolish infatuation you felt for him was love. But it wasn't, and you'll soon forget him. You don't want to remember a man who was a wrong-doer, I'm sure; nor do you want to remember a man who goes away and deserts you because he has been found out. Mona, is not his going away as he did, enough proof of his guilt?" But Mona was sobbing so that she could not speak. Not angry sobs now, but pathetic, repentant sorrow.