"But, damn it, Morrison," his voice was shaking—"don’t you understand I can’t go? I—er—Good Lord! do you suppose I want to stop here for one second longer than I must? I loathe it. Can’t you stop ’em, man: tell ’em I’m clearing the instant I’m——" "Married," said Morrison, quietly. "Well, yes," said the other. "I’ll have to be frank with you—and I can see you’ll understand." His eyes strayed round the room. "I admit absolutely that this isn’t my line: I detest the show. But old Frenton is wrapped up in these works—and—well—he looks for a son-in-law who will carry on. After I’m married I can explain things to him, don’t you know. And until then—well, we must stave off this trouble, Morrison." "Wouldn’t it be a little more straightforward to explain your views to him before the marriage?" "Perhaps it would have been," said the other, with apparent frankness. "But it’s too late now—and then there’s that damned show yesterday. That’s what I’m so afraid will come out." He stared at the fire. "I didn’t mean to hurt the fellow," he went on querulously. "And I’m certain he dropped that spanner on my toe on purpose." "Still, that hardly seems sufficient justification for slogging a boy, who is not quite all there, over the head with an iron bar, does it?" Almost unconsciously his eyes travelled to the bedroom door as he spoke, and then he grew suddenly rigid. For the door was open, and the girl stood between the two rooms with a look of incredulous horror on her face. "So that’s what was the matter with Jake," she said, slowly, and at the sound of her voice Strongley swung round with a violent start. "Marjorie..." he gasped, "what on earth..." "Why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?" she demanded, staring at him with level eyes. "Why lie about it? It seems so unnecessary and petty. And then—to hit Jake over the head.... You, ... Take it back, please." She laid her engagement ring on the table. "And I think you’d better go—at once. The fault was partially mine; and I wouldn’t like them to punish you for my—for my mistake...." Without another word she turned and left the room. And it was not till the front door banged that Strongley turned his livid face on John Morrison. "You swine," he muttered. "I believe this was a put-up job." John Morrison laughed. "Yes—you told me you were coming, didn’t you?" "No—I didn’t tell you," said Strongley, slowly, with a vicious look dawning in his eyes. "Which perhaps accounts for the fact that Miss Frenton was here.... In your bedroom.... How nice.... The gentleman workman and the employer’s daughter.... A charming romance.... I should think Mr. Frenton will be delighted to hear it to-morrow...." Not a muscle on John Morrison’s face moved.