"So far as I know, Walters has gone back to bed," Mary explained. "The telegram was not sent, for reasons best known to Mr. Mayfield. There is no occasion to be angry. It was no fault of mine--and has nothing to do with me. Mr. Mayfield suggested that I should have another night to think it over. It is not his code of honour----" "Code of honour! The fellow hasn't got one! There is no trusting him! And now everybody will know of this disgrace of ours." "They won't. Mr. Mayfield has arranged all that. He seems to be clever at this kind of thing. But perhaps I had better explain." The anger and irritation died out of Sir George's face as he listened. He expressed no feeling of disgust or abhorrence at the trick to be played upon his household; on the contrary, a suppressed chuckle broke from him, a chuckle instantly smothered as he noticed the white scorn on Mary's face. "I beg your pardon, my dear. Of course, it is all very wrong, but in the circumstances, what else could we do? I have not the slightest doubt that Mayfield will make it all right tomorrow. And now we must go to bed." Mary turned aside and went wearily in the direction of the hall. Usually, she gave her father a warm and dutiful kiss before retiring, but she really felt that she could not do so tonight. She had always freely expressed her contempt for tears as a woman's weapon and as a solace in the hour of trouble. But the tears rose to her eyes now as she thought of her father and the sorry part he had played. It seemed almost incredible that the head of the house of Dashwood could act so meanly. And she herself! How much better was she behaving in the hour of trial? The girl's face flamed as she thought of it. In her heart of hearts she knew that the proper thing would have been to face the matter and see it out to the end. Yet her pride had impelled her to make an appalling sacrifice to silence tongues that did not matter in the least. What would Ralph Darnley have thought of it all had he known? How strange that Ralph should come into Mary's mind now, she told herself, strange that she should revert to him when danger threatened. "You need not wait on me tonight, Kelly," Mary told her maid. "It is so very late and I want to be alone. Have you been asleep in my chair all this time?" The pretty little maid admitted that she had. She went her way presently and Mary began slowly to undress. But tired as she was she felt that somehow sleep tonight could not be for her. Usually, she dropped off directly her head touched the pillow; the silence of the old house was very soothing. But not tonight, for the place seemed full of weird noises, the noises that the invalid hears when pain prevents slumber. Mary lay there, but she could not sleep. It seemed to her that somebody was moving about the corridor. Surely she heard a footstep, and something like the scratch of a match.