“Of course. She’d walk through the Thames to meet me at any time.” “Then your unparalleled devotion must stand even this test. You must meet her to-night and arrange to marry her with as little delay as possible.” Rees made a grimace. “Can’t it be put off until we see how things really turn out?” “No,” answered Amos, decisively, “we can really only reckon on safety for a few hours. You see we were all seen. Our best chance, yours and mine, is to remain where we are, keep perfectly quiet, and trust to Sep’s keeping his head; in the meantime we must take all the precautions we can, and yours is--Lady Marion.” Rees got up from his chair with a very sour face. “All right,” he said briefly. “If it’s got to be done, here goes.” He ran upstairs to his room without another word, and returned in twenty minutes in evening dress and overcoat, wearing the tired and blasé air which was now no affectation with him. His pale face, curly hair, and great black eyes with dark rings under them, made him look what ladies call “interesting,” a fact of which he did not appear to be ignorant. “Will it do?” he asked, carelessly, as he took up his gloves. “First-rate,” answered Amos, with a nod. And with much apparent reluctance, part of which was real and part affected, Rees Pennant jumped into a hansom and gave the driver an address in a street near Russell-square. CHAPTER XVIII. Through all Rees Pennant’s changes of conduct, of manner, of thought, of appearance, Lady Marion Cenarth had remained unswervingly faithful and devoted, brooding over the short notes Goodhare induced him to write to her, with alternate rapture and anxiety; making appointments to meet him at the house of a convenient friend, bearing with his caprices of temper, proud of his tepid sufferance of her vehement adoration, ready at all times, as she repeatedly hinted, to throw away the dignity of her sex and position, and incur all the humiliation and danger of a private marriage. This step, in spite of Goodhare’s persuasions, Rees was in no hurry to take. Poor Lady Marion’s devotion was perhaps too slavish, too entirely unconcealed, to have been highly valued by any man. It therefore speedily palled upon Rees, who was not only accustomed to feminine adoration, but who had become doubly fastidious since Deborah Audaer’s visit to town.