"I’ve spread it like very thin butter on very thick bread, to make the hundreds look like thousands. To carry off a big _coup_ like this, one must have _some_ ready money," broke in Joan, with a queer little smile at her own cleverness, and the thought of where it would land her if Marian’s "conscientious scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We _shall_ be in rather a scrape if you won’t marry Sir Anthony--and you’re made for each other, too. But never mind, we shall get out of it somehow. At worst, we can disappear." "And leave everything unpaid, and let him and everybody know we are adventuresses!" exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears. "Don’t cry, dear; don’t worry; and don’t decide anything," said Joan. "I have an idea." She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse the violent headache which the battle between heart and conscience had brought on. When it was certain that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would not appear again that evening, she sent a little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as fortunately Torr Count was the next estate to Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once. It is very important that I should see you," wrote the decorous Mercy. Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of dinner when the communication arrived, and to his sister’s disgust he begged her to excuse him, as it was necessary to go out immediately on business. "That adventuress has sent for you!" Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed. "She has got you completely in her net. I don’t believe those three are sisters. They don’t look in the least alike, and it is all very well to say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child’s accent. I have heard her talk more like a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you there is something wrong, very wrong, about them all." "I advise you not to tell any one else, then," answered Anthony Pendered furiously--"that is, unless you wish to break off for ever with me. This afternoon I asked the ’adventuress,’ as you dare to call her, to marry me, and she refused. I had to plead before she would even promise to think it over." With this he left his sister also to "think it over," and decide that, between two evils, it might be wise to choose the less. Marian’s lover could not guess why Marian’s younger sister had sent for him, and his anxiety increased when he saw the gravity of the girl’s face. "Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered. "A little, because she is unhappy; but you can make her well again--if you choose," replied Joan inscrutably. "Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested.