"Would you risk one with me?" asked Craver. Lady Wyke laughed, settled herself amongst the cushions of the sofa, and stirred her tea. "Oh, you mean that you might be inclined to tip me out of the machine," she observed, looking at him straightly. "Very naturally you should, seeing what I know. Still, I am willing to risk a flight." "What do you know?" "I told you. I know that you murdered Sir Hector." "I did not murder him," said Craver, steadily. Lady Wyke shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Of course you say that. I don't very well see what else you can say if you want to save your neck." "My neck isn't in danger." "Oh, I think it is, and at my discretion" "So you think." "And so I believe, with every reason to believe," she retorted, and yet looked uneasy. This calm way of taking so heinous an accusation surprised and irritated her greatly. "Well, what have you to say?" "A great deal." "Hum! I told you that you would not get back to tea at the Rectory. After all, we are very comfortable--at least I am." "Well, I can't say that I am comfortable in the presence of a woman who stoops so low to gain her ends; but let us get down to business." "Business? You mean you wish to know why I act in this way?" "Well, I have a sort of idea of your motive. Still--" "Still, you must be blind," she interrupted, "not to see that I am in love with you and wish to marry you." "You go the right way about getting me to be your husband, I must say," said the young man, sarcastically. "I shall love you immensely if you succeed in leading me to the altar against my will. Get someone else to woo you," he ended. "No; I want you." "You can't have me." "Edwin"--she leant forward and extended her arms imploringly--"don't be so cruel. It is not my fault that I have fallen in love with you. The moment I met you I wished you to become my husband. After all, I am not so old and not so ugly that you should scorn me. Also, I am rich; I have brains----" "With regard to that last," he interrupted, "I don't think you have. Otherwise, you would scarcely proceed with your love-making in this way." "It is the man who should make love;" she panted, fiercely. "I agree with you. Why, then, do you usurp the privilege of the male sex?" "I hate you!" Lady Wyke clenched her fists, as if about to strike him, and glared viciously. "I hate you!" "I prefer that," said Craver, serenely, and kept a cool eye on her doings. "Ah"--Lady Wyke looked up to the ceiling--"has this man any feeling? How can he sit there and see a loving woman tear her heart to lay it at his feet for him to trample on." "Silly! Silly!" was Edwin's comment. "Take care." The woman bent over him and hissed the word into his ear. "I can hang you!" "So you say," he replied, unmoved. "So I say, and so I know," she shouted. "I know that you came down to this house on the night when Hector was murdered. You stabbed him, so that he might not marry that Lemby girl. You escaped on the bicycle. You----"