They had no appetite for further discourse with this young madman just then. The Duke turned on his heel and walked out. Presson followed. "Gentlemen," said the young man to those who remained, "I have no quarrel with you. I do not want any. Do you understand?" He wiped his hands with his handkerchief, smoothed his hair, and walked past them. As calmly as he could he hurried through the lobbies and the rotunda of the State House. The crowds were thinning. The band had gone. The women had scattered to prepare for the ball of the evening. Among the few that were left he could not find her. He went back to his committee-room and pondered until dusk fell. One matter presented itself to his mood as a duty. He called a carriage and was driven to the Presson home. Madeleine came down in answer to his card. But as she entered the reception-room her father followed at her heels, beginning threats as he came in. "Father," she said, quietly, "I have just listened to you. You need not fear that I do not understand myself and my duty. I ask you to retire." He stood there a moment, still muttering his wrathful protest, but in the end her dignity mastered him. He went away. What she did next amazed the young man who stood there waiting. She came to him and patted his cheek. "My poor boy," she said, softly, and drew him down beside her on a couch. For a moment the words he had come prepared to say deserted him. He could not speak. He found sincere compassion in her eyes--sympathy and something else which he did not fathom. "I can do at least one decent thing to-day," he burst out. "I can come to you man-fashion and ask you to release me from our engagement of this evening. I know, of course, you wouldn't go to the ball with me after what has happened. But there's a deeper reason. I am going to tell it to you. Don't misunderstand me. I don't know the right words to use. Any way I put it may sound as though I were a cad. But understand me, Madeleine--as my friend, understand me--for God's sake, do! You have been wise. You have counselled me. I need a friend now!" His voice broke, and she waited. "I've come to my senses. Oh, it's no discredit to you that I thought I loved you. I thought so." "Your love would honor any woman, Harlan." He looked at her piteously. He understood how his confession would sound. Only his resolve to be honest with her availed to drive him to the confession he intended to make. "I couldn't say it to some girls," he cried. "They would not see how it was. But I can only tell you the truth!" "Wait a moment," she said, interrupting. "You are not just yourself. Let me talk to you. Only a little while ago a girl came to me." He started up, but she restrained him.