“Then perhaps you will be good enough to explain why the fact that Sir Gilbert Clare is my grandfather should modify or alter in any way the conditions of our engagement.” “We need scarcely trouble ourselves with the why or the wherefore while the indubitable fact remains. The revelations of the last few hours have served to fix a great gulf between you and me. There is no option left me, none, but to release you from your promise, to give it back to you unconditionally.” “Oh, how bitterly proud you are!” cried Ethel, her eyes flashing. “But supposing I refuse to be released, supposing I refuse to take back my promise, as I most assuredly do—what then?” “In that case I can but lay it at your feet. When a prisoner’s fetters are knocked off he has no option in the matter; he is simply told that he is free. There is one point which neither you nor I should allow ourselves for one moment to forget. You can no longer claim to be your own mistress. Your duty and obedience are due to others. Those others will have views, wishes, prospects in connection with one so dear to them which you cannot afford to disregard.” Ethel shook her head. “Obedience sometimes degenerates into weakness, and wrongs done either to oneself or others are none the less wrongs even if dignified with the name of duty. But I will say no more now, Everard. I see that it would be useless to argue with you. And I must hurry back, for I have long outstayed my time. When we next meet it will be my turn to triumph.” Her eyes laughed up at her lover as he stooped and pressed his lips to hers. Then without pausing she flew towards the house. Merely taking off her hat and jacket, Ethel went direct to the library, where she found both Sir Gilbert and her father, who had been on the point of going to their rooms to dress for dinner. They both welcomed her with a glad smile. “I sent in search of you half-an-hour ago, but you were nowhere to be found,” said the Baronet. “Where have you been hiding yourself? But come up to the fire. I can tell the wind has got round to the east again by the twinge in my left shoulder.” Seating herself on a hassock near the fire, Ethel spread out her hands between her face and the blaze. One of her father’s hands lingered for a moment caressingly on her hair. Although she did not in the least falter in her purpose, her heart was beating much faster than was common, and there was an odd little quaver in her voice when she spoke. “I have been for a ramble in the park,” she said, “and there I met Everard Lisle. Indeed, it was on purpose to meet him that I went, for we had not seen each other since before he set out on that journey which ended so unexpectedly at Liverpool.” “Um—um,” murmured the Baronet. “Then, of course, you had much to say to each other,” remarked John Clare. “Doubtless Mr. Lisle was greatly surprised at what you had to tell him.”