“Oh, I will be plain enough,” she declared, with a touch of blunt fierceness in her tone. “I believe that he cares for you, I believe that is why he will not think for a moment even of me. When I tell you that you know of course that I hate you.” “Oh, yes, I have known that for some time.” “I hate you!” she repeated, sullenly. “If you were to die I should be glad. If I had the means and the strength, I believe, I am sure that I would kill you myself.” I rose to my feet with a little shudder. She was terribly in earnest. “I don’t think, unless you have anything more to say, that it is a particularly pleasant interview for either of us,” I remarked, with my hand upon the bell. But she stopped me. “I have something else to propose,” she declared. “You have said that you do not love him. Very well. Perhaps his not seeing you has irritated him and made him impatient. See him. Let him ask you--he will not need much encouragement--and refuse him. Answer him so that he cannot possibly make any mistake. Be rude to him if you can. Perhaps then, if he knows that you are not to be moved, he will come to me. Do you understand?” “Oh, yes, I understand,” I said, slowly; “I understand perfectly. There is only one thing you seem to forget. Your idea that Mr. Deville is interested in me is only a surmise. It is more than possible that you are altogether mistaken. He and I are almost strangers. We have not met a dozen times in our lives. He has never shown any inclination to make any sort of proposal to me; I should think it most unlikely that he should ever do so. Supposing that you were right, it would probably be months before he would mention it to me, and I am going away.” She smiled at me curiously. How I hated that smile, with its almost feline-like exhibition of glistening white teeth! “He will propose to you if you will let him,” she said, confidently. “If you are really ignorant of that fact, and of your conquest, I can assure you of it.” Suddenly she broke off and looked intently out of the window. Across the park in the distance a tall, familiar figure was coming rapidly towards us. She turned and faced me. “He is coming here now,” she declared. “I am going away. You stay here and see him. Perhaps he will ask you now. Can’t you help him on to it? Remember, the more decidedly you refuse him the safer is Philip Maltabar. Be rude. Laugh at him; tell him he is too rough, too coarse for you. That is what he thinks himself. Hurt his feelings--wound him. It will be the better for you. You are a woman, and you can do it. Listen! Do you want money? I am rich. You shall have--I will give you five--ten thousand pounds if--if--he ever asks me. Ten thousand pounds, and safety for Philip Maltabar. You understand!” She glided out of the room with white, passionate face and gleaming eyes. Whither she went I did not know. I stood there waiting for my visitor. CHAPTER XXV A PROPOSAL