And Connie herself? She was the finest diplomatist of the three, for her heart was in the work. So much falsehood comes from no cause as from labelling human folk with a single ticket; a bundle of them might have been adequate to Connie. The time came which Beaufort had threatened--when they were alone as an affianced pair. The thing was done; she had spared no roughness in doing it. Now she set herself to make him content; nor did she force him to retract his threats. Her own mind was divided as to their relations When it came to the point of a clash of wills (to use a phrase consecrated by criticism), she found always that she wished her's to prevail; in lighter questions she was primitive enough to cherish the ideal of herself as a willing slave. If Beaufort had not been able to raise that illusion in her from time to time, she would not have liked him so much, nor gone to such lengths to prove her own ultimate mastery. Almost persuading herself, she almost persuaded him; and in this effort she became pleasant to him again. Thus she compromised between her woman's temperament and her masculine will. If he would accept the compromise as a permanent basis, their union promised to go very smoothly. 'If you'd been like this,' he told her, 'there wouldn't have been any trouble this afternoon.' She endorsed the monstrous falsehood readily. 'No, it was all my fault. But I was--so terrified of losing you.' 'You tried to threaten me into it!' He could not be so deluded as to doubt what she had done. But he wanted the forlorn comfort of a brave face over a beaten heart. 'You threatened me too,' whispered Connie. She broke away from him and took up her old jaunty attitude--arm on the mantel-piece, foot on the fender--again: there was challenge in the eyes that met his boldly. 'You did want some persuading,' she reminded him. He laughed. 'Well, Trix Trevalla's a devilish pretty woman--and a bit easier to hold than you.' 'I'm easy enough, if your hand's light. As for her, she'd have worried you to death. She'd have hated you, Beaufort.' He did not like that, and showed it. 'And I--don't!' Connie went on with a dazzling smile. 'Well, you're staring at me. How do I look?' So she played her fish, with just enough hint of her power, with just enough submission to the legitimate sway she invited him to exercise. It was all very dexterous; there was probably no other road to her end. If it seems in some ways not attractive--well, we must use the weapons we have or be content to go to the wall. When she bade him good-night--still Mrs. Fricker was strong on reputable hours, and Connie herself assumed a new touch of scrupulousness (she was a free lance no more)--his embrace did not lack ardour. She disengaged herself from his arms with a victorious laugh. Her mother waited for her, vigilant but approving--just a little anxious too. 'Well, Connie, is he very happy?'