“She might refuse, after all,” he suggested, evading a direct answer. “Refuse! You know her better than that. If you wanted Claire to make a burnt-offering of herself for your benefit to-morrow, you know she’d do it! And--and”--laughing a little hysterically--“pretend, too, that she enjoyed the process of being grilled! No, Nick, it’s up to you to--to just go on helping to make her life bearable, as you have done for the last two years.” “It’s asking too much of me, Jean.” Nick spoke a little thickly. He was up against one of man’s most primitive instincts--the instinct to protect and comfort and cherish the woman he loved. “I know. It’s asking everything of you.” Jean waited. She felt that she had gained a certain amount of ground--that Nick’s resolution had weakened a little in response to her pleading, but she feared to drive him too far. She fancied she could hear steps crossing the hall below. If someone should come upstairs and disturb them now, while things were still trembling in the balance---- “See, Nick,” she began to speak again hurriedly. “You believe I’m your pal--yours and Claire’s?” “I know it,” he replied quietly. “And--and you do care a bit about me?”--smiling a little. “You’re the third woman in my world, Jean. After Claire and my mother.” “Then, to please me--for nothing else in the world, if you like, but because I ask it--will you let things stay as they are for a few weeks longer? Just that little while, Nick? We’re going to London next week. That’ll make a break--bring us all back to a calmer, more everyday outlook on things. Will you wait? Sir Adrian may never strike Claire again. And it wouldn’t be fair--just now, at a time when she is feeling horribly bitter and humiliated from that--that insult--to ask her to go away with you. Give her a fair chance to decide a big question like that when things are at their normal level--not when they are worse than usual. To ask her now would be to take advantage of the feeling she must have, just at this moment, that her life is unbearable. It wouldn’t be playing the game.” He made no answer, and Jean waited with increasing trepidation. She was sure now that she could hear footsteps. Someone had mounted the stairs and was coming along the corridor towards her room. “Nick!” The low, agitated whisper burst from her as the steps halted outside the door. “Promise me!” It seemed an eternity before he answered. “Very well. I promise. You’ve won for the moment--‘Saint Jean’!” He smiled at her, rather sadly. Before she could reply, Blaise’s voice sounded outside the door, asking if he might come in, and with a feeling of intense relief that the battle was won for the moment, Jean gave the required permission. As his brother entered the room, Nick quitted it, brushing past him abruptly. Tormarin’s eyes questioned Jean’s; “We have been discussing Sir Adrian,” she explained, as the door closed behind Nick. “And--and Claire.” He nodded comprehendingly.