"Don't let her guess anything. Don't tell her anything. She's a little worried about Arthur already. But we must stop the madness before she knows anything. Promise!" "Very well. For the present--I'm mum." "And talk to him!--tell him it'll ruin him!" "I don't mind--from my own point of view," said Coryston, surveying her with his hands on his sides. Then suddenly his face changed. A cloud overshadowed it. He gave her a queer, cold look. "Perhaps I have something to ask you," he said, slowly. "What?" The tone showed her startled. "Let _me_ come and talk to _you_ about that man whom all the world says you're going to marry!" She stared at him, struck dumb for the moment by the fierceness of his voice and expression. Then she said, indignantly: "What do you mean, Corry!" "You are deceived in him. You can't marry him!" he said, passionately. "At least let me talk to you." She rose and stood facing him, her hands behind her, her dark face as full of energy and will as his own. "You are thinking of the story of Mrs. Betts. I know it." "Not as I should tell it!" A moving figure in a distant field caught her attention. She made a great effort to master her excitement. "You may tell me what you like. But I warn you I shall ask _him_ for his version, too." Corry's expression changed. The tension relaxed. "That's only fair," he said, indifferently. Then, perceiving the advancing man: "Ah, I see!--here he is. I'm off. It's a bargain. I say nothing to mother--and do my best to make Arthur hang himself. And I have it out with you--my small sister!--when we next meet." He paused, looking at her, and in his strangely penetrating eyes there dawned, suddenly, the rare expression that Marcia remembered--as of a grave yet angry tenderness. Then he turned away, walking fast, and was soon invisible among the light shadows of a beech avenue, just in leaf. Marcia was left behind, breathing quick, to watch the approach of Edward Newbury. * * * * * As soon as he perceived Marcia under the shade of the hawthorns Newbury quickened his pace, and he had soon thrown himself, out of breath, on the grass beside her. "What a heavenly spot!--and what a morning! How nice of you to let me find you! I was hoping Lady Coryston would give me lunch." Radiant, he raised his eyes to her, as he lay propped on his elbows, the spring sun, slipping through the thin blossom-laden branches overhead, dappling his bronzed face.