“Sit, here, Marjorie,” Barnard patted the sofa invitingly, but she declined, and he stepped to her side. “How often have I pictured you here,” he said softly, glancing about the comfortable room. “Little girl, I long for you always.” “Don’t Chichester,” she threw out her hand beseechingly. “Drop this sham--be honest with me....” “You doubt me?” in hurt surprise. “You, my darling, for whom I would sacrifice so much to win!” “All that is past....” “It is not,” he broke in vehemently. “I have learned my lesson this afternoon; I shall never give you up, never.” He spoke as if making an unalterable vow with himself, and she watched him uneasily. “Give me a little encouragement, take back your harsh words,” he whispered and with a movement so swift that she could not avoid it, he slipped his arm about her waist. Swayed by his physical charm, she permitted him to draw her closer, but before his lips touched hers, Duncan’s face leaped out of the shadows of memory, and she pushed Barnard from her. “Stop!” In her endeavor to render her voice steady, she made it hard. “I am in no mood for love scenes, Chichester.” A gleam of fury lighted Barnard’s eyes as he seized her arm. “Has Duncan Fordyce come between us?” he demanded. “Answer!” “Have you lost your senses?” Her cold fury matched his blazing wrath. “I took you for a gentleman; no gentleman browbeats a woman!” “Will you answer my question?” paying no attention to her gibe. “What if I say yes?” Marjorie had seldom looked so beautiful; cheeks pink and eyes bright with feverish excitement. Tall and slim and graceful, she faced the jealous man with undaunted spirit. “If I thought you meant it----?” Barnard’s husky whisper barely reached her ears, but his look of agony smote her, angry as she was. “Are you the only one who can--flirt?” she asked, half drawn by his personal magnetism, and half repelled by his manner. “Is that all?” eagerly. “Are you merely trying to tease me? Oh, it _must_ be that”--answering his own impetuous question in his anxiety to trample down his doubts. “A girl must love a man when she steals for him.” Marjorie stood frozen; every vestige of color stricken from her face. “Explain your meaning.” The words were little more than a whisper. “You destroyed the signed codicil in which Aunt Margaret Lawrence revoked her bequest to me....” “Chichester!” Her voice was poignant with outraged feeling. “You dare to think me a thief!” “No, no, my darling, only a loyal woman--a woman who has the courage of her affections--how I love you, Marjorie!” His voice lingered on her name. “How you insult me, you mean!” With a violent wrench Marjorie tore herself free from his grasp, and turning, gathered up her belongings. “Let me pass,” as he planted himself in front of her. “Where to?” “That is no longer your business.” “Suppose I won’t let you go?”