Marjorie flinched; it was a new Barnard confronting her. Gone was the suave courtly lover, and in his place stood the primeval man, his baser passions roused. And she had once believed she cared for him. The thought stung. “Drop this melodrama, Chichester,” she said cuttingly. “Your conduct has effectually killed whatever affection or respect I had for you.” “You are wrong; I have been too patient with your whims and fancies. Hereafter I take what I want.” Barnard laughed recklessly. “Women do not usually refuse me; they like masters.” “Do not class me with your associates,” she answered with scornful emphasis. “If you come any nearer me, Chichester, I shall scream for help.” “And your reputation will be ruined if you are found here with me,” mockingly. “Think it over.” She remained silent. “Is it worth the risk?” “Risk? I am not hesitating on that score,” proudly. “I forgot your family motto, ‘_Toujours sans tache_’,” he taunted. “And no bar sinister,” she said, glancing significantly at the coat-of-arms hanging above the mantel. Barnard winced, she had touched the vulnerable point in his family history; a history of which he was inordinately proud except for that single blemish. He threw out his hands imploringly. “Think, my darling, before it is too late; can you afford to break with me?” “I fail to understand you,” she retorted hotly. “Our so-called engagement was at an end days ago; I have repeatedly returned your ring....” “I decline to accept your refusal,” with forced calmness, and his expression altered. “Marjorie, I have been mad! Forget all that I have said; remember only that I love you and you alone. Take back my ring, my darling.” “No, never!” she shrank away as he offered it to her. “I _will_ go!” Barnard stepped instantly aside. “I implore your forgiveness,” he pleaded desperately. “I deserve all the harsh things you said of me, dear; but you have never truly loved”--Marjorie’s face changed, ever so slightly, and she avoided his gaze--“you have never loved,” he repeated stubbornly, “never known what it is to be tempted. Give me a chance to win back your good opinion; it is all that I ask--now.” “It is useless;” Marjorie walked over to the door leading to the outer hall, and from that safe haven, turned and faced him. “I never wish to see you again,” she announced with passionate fervor, and opening the door, dashed into the hall.