"Never mind my poor ankle, Meg. I understood that the house was only let for three months?" "Oh, much longer, I believe. Mr. Armathwaite---- "Confound Mr. Armathwaite! The devil fly away with Mr. Armathwaite! I'm sick of his name: I spit on him!" He literally writhed in a paroxysm of anger. "Percy!" He had chosen an unhappy word when he spoke of spitting on his rival. He reminded her of a toad, and she hated toads. With a desperate effort he sat bolt upright in the bed. "It's high time you and I had a few straight words, Meg," he said, and his voice lost its drawl, and the blase manner was dropped. "You haven't forgotten, I suppose, that I've asked you to marry me?" "No. Perhaps, if you rack your memory, you'll remember my answer," she said indignantly, for she felt the innuendo, and was resolved to resent it with vigor. "No, oh, no! You said you didn't mean to marry anybody. That is a maidenly sentiment which is right and proper, and I agreed with it at the time. But the position has altered considerably during the past couple of days. As matters stand now, Meg, you may change your mind, and I beg to inform you that when you do marry, you'll marry me." "It is hardly fair to take advantage of your accident," she said, with a quiet scorn that only served to infuriate him the more. "What do you mean?" he said thickly. "You are not usually so dense. If you were not ill you would never dare speak to me in that fashion." "Never mind my illness. That will soon pass. And the density you complain of is not so one-sided as you imagine. I pointed out that the position had changed. Two days ago you were free to say 'Yes' or 'No' to my proposal. To-day you are not. You've got to marry me now, Meg. You'll be my wife by fair means or foul. Need I explain myself further?" "It--it would be as well." "All right. You've asked for it, and you'll get it. Unless I have your promise here and now that our marriage will take place as soon as I can stand on my feet again, I'll have your father arrested for murder." "Percy, you must be mad even to think of such a dreadful thing!" "No, not mad, but sane, very sane and wide-eyed. That fellow, Armathwaite, wants you, and he'll snap you up while I'm lying in this infernal house unless I strike now, and strike hard. I mean exactly what I say. I've thought it all out here, though I'm suffering pain enough to drive me crazy. But the mind can conquer the body, and my mind is not only clear, but fixed. Tell me you'll marry me, and I'll be patient as a saint. I'll take your word for it. I don't want you to sit by my side and hold my hand, as some sniveling fools would wish. You can plan your gardens with Armathwaite, and smile at him and talk with him as much as you please. But you've got to be my wife. Refuse, and the only way you can save your father from arrest is by getting Armathwaite to commit another murder."