“How nice of you! It hardly sounds at all perfunctory! And yet I know it is. Don’t try any more. Let me tell you that I don’t mind this for myself, but only for you, and I mean to defend myself tooth and nail, only for your sake. I know what it means for you. If Mortimer and his paid accomplices can succeed in lying me away from him, then the world will expect you to marry me.” “Yes,” he said, “and I will!” “Ah, but it takes two!” she replied, in tragic accents. “You can’t marry me against my will. Supposing I am not there?” He allowed the usual empty threat of suicide to pass unheeded. “I shall ask you to, at any rate,” he said, doggedly. “Oh, yes, you will ask me!” She was playing so well that she almost enjoyed it. “Oh, yes, you will ask me, because you are a man of honour--and I shall refuse, because I am a woman of honour. I will not be behind Egidia, whom you respect, in that. You are right. She is strong and good. And she loves you.” “Please don’t.” “Surely you and I have no need to mince words? She loves you, and if you marry any one, it ought to be Egidia. She is devoted, she is an angel, and she would rather see you dead at her feet, than married to me!” She never looked round, or she would perhaps have realised the exquisite annoyance she was inflicting on her helpless victim, penned up as he was beside her, powerless to prevent or avoid the stream of tactless heroics she was pouring on him. His forehead was contracted, his hands were clenched together over the doors of the cab. “We are coming to the more crowded streets now,” he said suddenly, “and it is really very dangerous for you to be seen with me. Had you not better let me get out, and leave you to go the rest of the way alone?” She replied, with desperate and intentional incisiveness, “I permit you to leave me, since you wish it.” He put up his arm, and raised the trap door. Mrs. Elles raised her hand to intercept his, but let it fall hopelessly down again, on a glance at his set face. The cab stopped and he got out, and standing half on the pavement, and half on the foot-board of the cab, held out his hand. “Good-bye!” he said, “for the present!” The reservation was kind in intention, but she would not accept it. “Good-bye--forever!” was her answer, as her hand, gloveless, out of her muff, went forth to meet his. “How cold you are!” he said, as he took it. “I am sorry. But it is better I should leave you now, isn’t it? Forgive me for being such a bear, but I have to think for both. I will write if I may?” “You needn’t,” she whispered, retreating to the corner of the cab, like a wounded animal. “Tell him to go on!” “Is there anywhere you can tell him to go--some shop--and then discharge him and take a new one? It would be safer!” “Tell him to go to the New Gallery!” she said, defiantly, and Rivers accordingly did so, and left her. CHAPTER XIV