"I did. I _desired_ him to go. Shut the door close; and I will tell you all about it. But, first, 'Duke, before I say one word, make me a vow you will not be angry with him or take any notice of what he has done." "What has he done?" demands 'Duke, growing a trifle paler. "No harm to any one. Make me your vow first." "I vow, then," says he, impatiently. And I forthwith repeat to him word for word all that passed between Sir Mark and me, in the evergreen walk. "The scoundrel!" says 'Duke, when I have finished. "Yes, just so," say I. "I really think he must have gone mad. However, there was no excuse for it, so I simply ordered him out of the house. He looked dreadfully unhappy. After all, perhaps he could not help it." 'Duke laughs in spite of his anger, which is extreme. "Of all the conceited little women!" he says. "What gave you the headache last night? Was it his conduct?" "Well, I think it was founded on a determination not to see him again. But I was afraid to tell you anything then, lest you might refuse to sit at table with him, or be uncivil, or have a row in any way. You will remember your promise, 'Duke, and let him go quietly away. An explanation would do no good. Once he is gone, it will not signify." "He used to be such a good fellow," says 'Duke, in a puzzled, provoked tone. "Well, he is anything but that now," reply I, with decision. "If you go away now, 'Duke, I think I will get up. I dare say he will be on his way to London by the time I am dressed." I get through my toilet with a good deal of deliberation. I am in no great hurry to find myself downstairs; I am determined to afford him every chance of getting clear of the premises before I make my appearance. When dressed to Martha's satisfaction, I go cautiously through tho house, and, contrary to my usual custom, make straight for Marmaduke's study. Opening the door without knocking, I find myself face to face with Marmaduke and Sir Mark Gore. I feel petrified, and somewhat guilty. Of what use my condemning myself to solitary confinement for so many hours, if the close of them only brings me in contact with what I have so striven to avoid? Marmaduke's blue eyes are flashing, and his lips are white and compressed. Sir Mark, always dark and supercilious, is looking much the same as usual, except for a certain bitter expression that adorns the corners of his mouth. Both men regard me fixedly as I enter, but with what different feelings! Marmaduke holds out his hand to me, and the flash dies in his eyes. Sir Mark's lips form the one word "false." "No, I am not false," I protest, vehemently, putting my hand through Marmaduke's arm, and glancing at my opponent defiantly from my shelter; "'Duke is my husband; why should I hide anything from him? I told you I would conceal nothing."