Her eyes flew open. "I've won? Oh, I have won!" "No. I was grieving for you, fairest, not for myself. You have lost." Tears glistened on the end of her long lashes. "Sir Deryk--p-please be gen-generous now! I don't want to--kiss you!" "What! You cry off? Shame, Cleone!" he teased. "You are monstrous unk-kind! It's my locket, and I d-don't want to kiss you! I don't, I don't! I hate you!" "That adds spice, my dear. Must I take the price?" She choked down a sob. "Very well. Kiss me." She stood where she was, face upturned, with the resignation of a martyr. He laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. "By God, Cleone, you're damnably beautiful!" he said thickly. "You've played with fire to-night--but I won't burn you too much!" He bent his head till his lips met hers. At that inauspicious moment James and Philip walked into the room. "No, it was here she said, Philip. I re--" With a cry of horror Cleone sprang away from Sir Deryk, her cheeks flaming. Her wide eyes went from James' face of frozen astonishment to Philip's pale, furious countenance. Philip took a half-step forward, his hand wrenching at his sword-hilt. Then he checked and slammed the sword back into the scabbard. Cleone had not struggled in Brenderby's embrace. What could he do? He had always thought her in love with the fellow. And on the top of his own proposal.... He swept a magnificent bow. "_Mille pardons, mademoiselle!_ It seems that I intrude." Cleone winced at the biting sarcasm in his voice. She tried to speak, and failed. What could she say? James came out of his stupor. He strode forward. "What in thunder--" "I don't kn-know!" quavered Cleone. "Oh--oh, heaven!" Quickly Brenderby stepped to her side. He took her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Gentlemen, you have the honour of addressing my affianced wife," he said haughtily. Philip's hand was on the curtain. It clenched slowly. He stood very still, his eyes on Cleone's face. "Oh!" cried Cleone. "Oh, I--" She stopped helplessly. Heavens, what a position she was in! If she denied that she was betrothed to Brenderby, what could Philip think? What must he think? He had seen her in Sir Deryk's arms; the only excuse was a betrothal. And she had accused Philip of loose behaviour! Whatever happened, he must not think her a light woman! But, oh! how could she say she was betrothed to another when she desired nothing better than to fly to him for protection? She compromised. "I--oh, I think I am about--to faint!" she said. Sir Deryk drew her hand through his arm. "No, no, my love! Tell these gentlemen that it is as I say." Cleone looked at Philip. Was he sneering? She couldn't bear it. "Yes," she said. "It is." Philip seemed to stiffen. He bowed again. "Permit me to offer my felicitations," he said, but his voice was not quite steady. James hurried forward, furious. "Your pardon, sir! I beg leave to contradict that statement!"