"Eliot, if we're going to fight, don't you think we'll fight better if we fight together? I wouldn't dare to ask you this if I didn't see the hunger in your eyes for me just as the hunger is in my heart for you. And Eliot," she went on, nestling closer all the while, "won't you marry me to-night--won't you say you will?" This sudden rush of happiness was too much for Beekman, and he could hardly speak. For answer he drew his arm round her waist and pressed her close to him, their lips meeting in one long kiss, as they had that night so long ago, when she had promised herself to him. A little while later, Beekman drew his shabby coat about him, but Leslie saw nothing but the man underneath it. His shoulders that had been drooping under the burden of adversity, when she entered the room, now squared themselves; his mouth was firm, and his eyes sparkled as side by side they passed out into the darkness. * * * * * "What do you want of me?" Wilkinson was saying as he glanced first at Flomerfelt and then at his wife. They had bearded him in his Den a little while before, broken in upon his reverie, and instinctively he felt that their presence there augured no good to him. It was Flomerfelt who answered: "Thirds, Wilkinson. One-third for me and one for Mrs. Wilkinson." "By what right do you demand it?" asked Peter V., lolling back in his chair. "And you?" he added, looking at his wife. "I'll tell everything----" began Mrs. Peter V. But Flomerfelt interposed with: "She's your wife, Wilkinson." And lowering his voice, he continued: "Your property is personalty, stocks and bonds. In case of your death she would be entitled to a third. She merely asks her right." "In case of my death," mused Wilkinson. "But I'm not going to die--not yet," he added, a moment later. Flomerfelt's brows contracted, his eyes narrowed, he looked Wilkinson full in the face. "How do you know you're not?" he asked. "Is that a threat?" asked Wilkinson, rising. Flomerfelt, who hoped in the long run to wind up in Paris with two-thirds of Peter's hidden fortune, for he expected that Mrs. Peter V., with her third, in time would join him there, was glad to note that at his suggestion of death the woman had regarded him once more with fear. She had believed him responsible for the death of Roy Pallister, and he had fostered this belief, had held her within the circle of conspiracy, had held her as one chargeable, too, with death of the boy. It was a safe venture, for not once had he by word of mouth connected himself with that tragedy. Indeed, he had not the slightest idea as to who was responsible for it, but all through he felt that Mrs. Peter V., believing him responsible, felt herself mixed up, felt, too, perhaps, that they had gone too far. And, watching her out of the tail of his eye, he held his glance impudently upon Wilkinson's face.