'What, not with you and me? There's nobody here, is there?' 'Stop playing the fool,' he commanded brusquely. 'What's the matter with you to-day?' 'I'm in ripping spirits to-day, Beaufort. Can't you guess why?' 'I don't believe you came here to see Peggy Ryle at all,' he broke out. 'Never mind why I came here.' 'Have you got an idea that you've done something clever?' 'Never mind. I've awfully good news, Beaufort.' 'They may be listening at the door.' His uneasiness was pitiful. 'It wouldn't matter. Everybody'll know soon,' said Connie consolingly. 'What the deuce are you talking about?' he growled. She bent forward towards him with a striking, if rather overdone, air of joyous confusion. 'I've spoken to papa, Beaufort,' she whispered. Startled out of pretence, he sprang to his feet with an oath. His look was very ugly, he glared threateningly. Connie braced her courage and did not quail. 'I know I ought to have asked you,' she admitted with a smile that belied her professed penitence, 'but I caught him in such a beautiful humour that I had to take advantage of it. So I told him everything. I just confessed everything, Beaufort! Of course he scolded me--it hasn't been quite right, has it?--but he was very kind. He said that, since we were engaged, he'd forgive me and make mamma forgive me too.' She paused before her climax. 'I think that he's really simply awfully pleased.' 'You've told your father that you're engaged to me? You know it's a damned lie.' Connie's eyes gleamed dangerously, but she kept admirably cool. 'Well, I told him that you'd said you loved me, and that you always kissed me when we were alone, and called me your little Connie, and so on, you know. And papa said that he presumed from all that that we were engaged.' 'Well?' he muttered savagely. 'And I said that of course I presumed so too.' It was spoken with the innocence of the dove, but it put Beaufort Chance in a very awkward position; the reference is not to his sensibilities but to his tactics. Connie's dexterity forced him to a broad alternative--submission or open war. She deprived him of any half-way house, any compromise by which cajolery and kisses would serve in place of a promise and an obligation. She did not leave the matter there; she jumped down from the table and put her arm on his shoulder--indeed, half-way round his neck. 'You must have meant me to; and it made me so happy to--to feel that I was yours, Beaufort.' To this pass his shifty dealings had brought him, even as in public affairs they had forbidden him a career, and in business had condemned him to a sort of outlawry, although an outlawry tempered by riches. He was in an extremity; his chance of Trix was at stake, his dominion over Connie herself was challenged. He saw the broad alternative, and he chose open war.