At length this preamble had been manoeuvred round to the main point. Evarne leaned slightly forward in her anxiety, as she demanded, without any circumlocution-- "Morris, do you wish to prevent your cousin making me his wife?" Unconsciously she held her breath while awaiting his reply. "Surely such a question needs no answer?" he said, a certain sternness stealing into his voice. "My chief wonder is that you ever dared to think of marrying my cousin." Explanation seemed but a waste of time, yet she found herself saying in a somewhat tremulous voice-- "But I didn't know. They all speak of you by your title, and I did not dream of connecting that name with you. I never saw anything about the matter in the papers. Five years ago I was doing needlework; I read nothing and knew of nothing that happened outside my own four walls." "Um! I understand," rejoined Morris reflectively. Then with a sudden change of tone he continued-- "Now, see here. You must realise that, as things have turned out, this marriage is not to be thought of. While no one who has ever known you, _ma chérie_, can possibly connect Evarne and common sense together in their minds, you are experienced enough by now, I dare say, to be willing to admit that life has the drawback of being a serious affair, and not a pretty romance. Therefore you will surely see that the wisest thing you can do is to make the best of a bad job, to accept the inevitable, and--shall we say--travel a while? Now, travelling costs money, and it is only fair that I, who am responsible for the necessity, should pay the piper. There's a cheque in my pocket-book, Evarne. If you will tell me what you think would be sufficient to--to settle up things comfortably--I will fill it in right away. Now, that's merely a business offer, to avoid trouble and annoyance for us both," he added hastily, noticing her changed expression. "I don't need any thanks, but at the same time I don't intend to put up with any of the abuse to which you treated me the last time I proposed concerning myself about your future. Now, what sum will satisfy you? In any case you must realise that your marriage with Geoffrey is absolutely impossible." Evarne lay back in the big chair and surveyed the speaker leisurely and critically. She was at a loss to decide on the best manner of refusing even to consider this suggestion. One variety of response after another flitted through her mind. She dared venture on none of them. She dreaded the effect her defiance would have upon him, declare it gently and meekly as she might. Finally words came, prompted by her protracted scrutiny of his cold, resolute face. A quivering sigh escaped her, and speaking half to herself she murmured-- "How much I have suffered at your hands!" For a moment his sympathy was aroused. He drew his chair a trifle closer, and laid his hand upon her knee.