“Hang me for shooting a man whom I can prove to be a German spy? They won't dare! They won't even dare to place me under arrest for an hour. Why, when the truth becomes known,” he went on, his voice gaining courage as the justice of his case impressed itself upon him, “what do you suppose is going to happen to two women who took this fellow in and befriended him, introduced him under a false name to their friends, gave him the run of their house--this man whom they knew all the time was a German? You, Lady Cranston, chafing and scolding your husband by night and by day because he isn't where you think he ought to be; you, so patriotic that you cannot bear the sight of him out of uniform; you--the hostess, the befriender, the God knows what of Bertram Maderstrom! It will be a pretty tale when it's all told!” “I really think,” Philippa asserted calmly, “that you are the most utterly impossible and obnoxious creature I have ever met.” His face was dangerous for a moment. They had not yet reached the promontory which sheltered them from Dreymarsh. “Perhaps,” he muttered, leaning malignly towards her, “I could make myself even more obnoxious.” “Quite possibly,” she replied, “only I want to tell you this. If you come a single inch nearer to me, one of them shall shoot you.” “Your friend or your husband, eh?” he scoffed. She waved him on. “I think,” she told him, “that either of them would be quite capable of ridding the world of a coward like you.” “A coward?” he repeated. “Precisely! Isn't it a coward's part to terrorise a woman?” “I don't want to terrorise you,” he said sulkily. “Well, you must admit that you haven't shown any particular desire to make yourself agreeable,” she pointed out. He turned suddenly upon her. “I am a fool, I know,” he declared bitterly. “I'm an awkward, nervous, miserable fool, my own worst enemy as they say of me in the Mess, turning the people against me I want to have like me, stumbling into every blunder a fool can. I'm the sort of man women make sport of, and you've done it for them cruelly, perfectly.” “Captain Griffiths!” she protested. “When have I ever been anything but kind and courteous to you?” “It isn't your kindness I want, nor your courtesy! There's a curse upon my tongue,” he went on desperately. “I'm not like other men. I don't know how to say what I feel. I can't put it into words. Every one misunderstands me. You, too! Here I rode up to you this afternoon and my heart was beating for joy, and in five minutes I had made an enemy of you. Damn that fellow Lessingham! It is all his fault!” Without the slightest warning he brought down his hunting crop upon his horse's flanks. The mare gave one great plunge, and he was off, riding at a furious gallop. Philippa watched him with immense relief. In the far distance she could see two little specks growing larger and larger. She hurried on towards them.