"It is my own future I am thinking of," he declared harshly. "Your future is assured, so long as you play the game with Bracondale. If you act indiscreetly, and give way to silly moods, then you will only have yourself to blame for your ruin. Besides," he added, with his lip curling slightly, "you have the child to consider. What's her name?" "Her name is of no matter to you," was Jean's hot response. "She is mine, not yours." "I'm rather glad of that," he responded. "But I don't think this is really a fit opportunity to waste time in mutual recrimination." "No. Go, I tell you. If you remain longer, it will be dangerous--dangerous for us both." He looked at the clock, and then his gaze wandered to the closed jewel-case upon the Louis Quinze table. The small room, closed as it was, was filled with the perfume of the great bunch of flowers in the long Chinese vase--a perfume that seemed almost overpowering. "But I tell you I see no danger," was his careless reply, for it seemed his object to taunt her. He had already hinted at a continued tax upon her resources if she desired him to keep his lips sealed, and she, on her part, realising his true character, clearly foresaw that all her efforts could have but one result. To satisfy his demands would be impossible. A shadow had fallen upon her eventful life, one that would never again be lifted. "Will you have no pity for me?" she implored. "Have you come here with the express intent of goading me to madness?" "No--simply in order to have a straight talk with you--a chat between husband and wife." "Well, we have had it. Take the pearls and go. Get clear away before you are discovered. Bracondale may now be back at any moment," she added in fear of his sudden return. "I'm in no great hurry, I assure you," was his reply, as he seated himself upon the arm of a chair. "Give me the letter, Ralph. Do--if you please." He laughed in her face, his hands stuck in his jacket pockets, as was his habit. She looked around her with an expression of terror and despair. She listened, for she fancied she heard a footstep. They both listened, but no other sound could be distinguished. "A false alarm," remarked the man. Then, suddenly rising from where he was seated, he placed his hand in his breast pocket, and, drawing out his wallet, took therefrom the well-worn letter. "Well," he said reluctantly, "here you are. I suppose you'd better have it. And now you can't say but what I'm not generous--can you?" Jean almost snatched the precious note from his fingers, glanced at it to reassure herself that she was not being tricked, and then, striking a match which she took from a side-table, she applied it to one corner of the farewell letter, and held it till only a black piece of crackling tinder remained. "Now you are satisfied, I hope," he remarked in a harsh voice.