"You would have made a good tragic actor," she says. "If this little plebeian throws you over after all, you should think of it. You remind me of your father when he was in his most amusing moods. There, go; kiss Tita for me." Rylton turns to the door, his very soul on fire with rage. Just as he goes out, she calls to him, with a little soft musical ripple of laughter. "By-the-bye, take care you do not kiss Marian instead," says she. * * * * * * He meets Margaret on his way downstairs. He had walked up and down the passages above, in the dim light, with a view to bringing himself back into a state of control, with so much success that, when he comes face to face with Miss Knollys, he seems to her as self-possessed as usual. He had seen her talking to Tita in the hall below, in a somewhat earnest manner, and had taken it for granted that Tita had told her of their engagement. "Well," says he, stopping her. "Well?" returns she, smiling. "You have heard?" "Of what? Anything new?" curiously. The very best women are curious. "Of my engagement; surely she has told you?" "She? Who? _Marian!"_ "No--_no!"_ Then the truth comes to her. "Tita?" she says faintly. He nods his head; words fail him. "She told me nothing," says Margaret, recovering herself. "Yet I saw you talking together just now." "You did indeed." "And she said nothing?" "Nothing." "Then what _were_ you talking about?" "I was advising her to marry no man who did not love her." "What an extraordinary piece of advice to give to a girl who, as far as you knew, was not going to be married at all! What led up to it?" "Not Tita, certainly. It was I who led up to it." "And why?" "Do you think I have been blind and deaf, Maurice, during the past fortnight?" Miss Knollys almost compels his gaze. "If you are going to marry this young girl, _this child,_ I hope, I"--almost passionately--_"hope_ it will be for her good and yours." "Margaret! What a tone! You mean something!" "I do." Margaret's strong face lights up with honest anxiety. "I mean this!" She takes a step nearer him. "How is it between you and Marian?" "Why, how has it been?" asks he, with affected lightness; but a change passes over his face. "Oh, Maurice, take care!" says his cousin, laying her hand upon his arm. "Well, if you must have it," says he, frowning, "all that is over." He breaks away from her, frowning still. It is quite plain to her that she has offended him. But even as he leaves her he looks back; a sort of grim smile illumines his face. "I note that in your 'hoping' you have put Miss Bolton before me; that is as it should be. She is a sworn admirer of yours. Did you know it?"