“No, no you don’t!” he said. “Wait a moment. You can’t take me in now!” He laughed in her face. “If I go I’ll go all right, but you’ll never hear the end of it. You’re someone down here, aren’t you? I have heard about you. You’re a Meredyth, and the Meredyths used to hold their heads pretty high about here. But if you aren’t careful I’ll get talking, and if I talk I’ll make this place too hot to hold you. You know what I mean. I hate threatening you, Joan, only you force me to do it.” His voice altered. “I hate threatening, and you know why. It is because I love you, and I am willing to marry you—in spite of everything, you understand? In spite of everything!” Joan threw out her hand and grasped at the edge of the table. “My friend out there—am I to call for him? Are you driving me to do that? Shall I call him now?” “If you like,” Slotman said. “If you do, I’ll have something to tell him of a marriage that never took place in June, nineteen eighteen, and of a man who came to my office to see you, and offered to marry you—as atonement. Oh yes, I heard—trust me! I don’t let interviews take place in my offices that I don’t know anything about!” He was silent suddenly. There was that in her face that worried him, frightened him in spite of himself—a wild, staring look in her eyes; the whiteness of her cheeks, the whiteness even of her lips. There was a tragic look about her. He had seen something like it on the stage at some time. He realised that he might be goading her too far. “I’ll go now,” he said. “I’ll go and leave you to think it all out. You can rely on me not to say anything. I shan’t humble you, or talk about you—not me! A man don’t run down the girl he means to make his wife, and that’s what I mean—Joan! In spite of everything, you understand, my girl?” He paused. “In spite of everything, Joan, I’ll still marry you! But I’ll come back. Oh, I’ll come back, I—” He paused. He suddenly remembered the denuded state of his finances, yet it did not seem an auspicious moment just now to ask her for financial help. “I’ll write,” he thought. He looked at her. “Good-bye, Joan. I’ll come back; you’ll hear from me soon. Meanwhile, remember—not a word, not a word to a living soul. You’re all right, trust me!” Meanwhile Johnny Everard wandered about the sweet, old-world garden, and did not appreciate its beauties in the least. He was waiting, and there is nothing so dreary as waiting for one one longs to see and who comes not. But presently there came a maid, that same maid who had earned Johnny’s temporary hatred. “Miss Meredyth wished me to say, sir, that she would be very glad if you would excuse her. She’s been taken with a bad headache, and has had to go to her own room to lie down.” “Oh!” said Johnny. The sun seemed to shine less brightly for him for a few moments. “I’m sorry. All right, tell her I am very sorry, and—and shall hope to see her soon!”