Just now she was the chief goal of his desire. Sheba did not deceive herself into thinking that he had for a moment accepted her dismissal of him. He still meant to marry her, and he had told her so in characteristic way the day after their break. Sheba had sent him a check for the amount he had paid her and had refused to see him or anybody else. Shamed and humiliated, she had kept to her room. The check had come back to her by mail. Across the face of it he had written in his strong handwriting:-- I don't welsh on my bets. You can't give to me what is not mine. Do not think for an instant that I shall not marry you. Watching him now, she wondered what manner of man he was. There had been a day or two when she had thought she understood him. Then she had learned, from the story of Meteetse, how far his world of thought was from hers. That which to her had put a gulf between them was to him only an incident. She moved to adjust a window blind and when she returned found that his steady eyes were fixed upon her. "You're getting better fast," she said. "Yes." The girl had a favor to ask of him and lest her courage fail she plunged into it. "Mr. Macdonald, if you say the word Mr. Elliot will be released on bail. I am thinking you will be so good as to say it." His narrowed eyes held a cold glitter. "Why?" "You must know he is innocent. You must--" "I know only what the evidence shows," he cut in, warily on his guard. "He may or may not have been one of my attackers. From the first blow I was dazed. But everything points to it that he hired--" "Oh, no!" interrupted the Irish girl, her dark eyes shining softly. "The way of it is that he saved your life, that he fought for you, and that he is in prison because of it." "If that is true, why doesn't he bring some proof of it?" "Proof!" she cried scornfully. "Between friends--" "He's no friend of mine. The man is a meddler. I despise him." The scarlet flooded her cheeks. "And I am liking him very, very much," she flung back stanchly. Macdonald looked up at the vivid, flushed face and found it wholly charming. He liked her none the less because her fine eyes were hot and defiant in behalf of his rival. "Very well," he smiled. "I'll get him out if you'll do me a good turn too." "Thank you. It's a bargain." "Then sing to me." She moved to the piano. "What shall I sing?" "Sing 'Divided.'" The long lashes veiled her soft eyes while she considered. In a way he had tricked her into singing for him a love-song she did not want to sing. But she made no protest. Swiftly she turned and slid along the bench. Her fingers touched the keys and she began.