His nostrils quivered a little. One felt that the fire of suffering had touched him again for a moment. “Yes, I killed him,” he admitted. “That is part of my creed. The men who defend their honour in the Law Courts are men I know nothing of. This man would have wronged me and robbed me of my honour. I bade him defend himself in any way he thought well. It was his life or mine. He was a poor fighter and I killed him.” “And Margaret's mother died from the shock.” “She died soon afterwards.” The stars grew paler. The passing vehicles, with their brilliant lights, grew fewer and fewer. The breeze which had been so welcome at first, turned into a cold night wind. She led the way back into the room. “I must go,” he announced. “You must go,” she echoed, looking up at him. “Good-bye!” She was so close to him that his embrace, sudden and passionate though it was, came about almost naturally. She lay in his arms with perfect content and raised her lips to his. He broke away. He was himself again, self-furious. “Lady Cynthia,” he said, “I owe you my most humble apologies. The evil that is in me does not as a rule break out in this direction.” “You dear, foolish person,” she laughed, “that was good, not evil. You like me, don't you? But I know you do. There is one crime you have always forgotten to develop--you haven't the simplest idea in the world how to lie.” “Yes, I like you,” he admitted. “I have the most absurd feeling for you that any man ever found it impossible to put into words. We have indeed strayed outside the world of natural things,” he added. “Why?” she murmured. “I never felt more natural or normal in my life. I can assure you that I am loving it. I feel like muslin gowns and primroses and the scent of those first March violets underneath a warm hedge where the sun comes sometimes. I feel very natural indeed, Sir Timothy.” “What about me?” he asked harshly. “In three weeks' time I shall be fifty years old.” She laughed softly. “And in no time at all I shall be thirty--and entering upon a terrible period of spinsterhood!” “Spinsterhood!” he scoffed. “Why, whenever the Society papers are at a loss for a paragraph, they report a few more offers of marriage to the ever-beautiful Lady Cynthia.” “Don't be sarcastic,” she begged. “I haven't yet had the offer of marriage I want, anyhow.” “You'll get one you don't want in a moment,” he warned her. She made a little grimace. “Don't!” she laughed nervously. “How am I to preserve my romantic notions of you as the emperor of the criminal world, if you kiss me as you did just now--you kissed me rather well--and then ask me to marry you? It isn't your role. You must light a cigarette now, pat the back of my hand, and swagger off to another of your haunts of vice.” “In other words, I am not to propose?” Sir Timothy said slowly.