"OEnone has cared, since she was a tiny child," Severance stumbled gloomily on. "It really was pathetic, then. When she began to grow up (not much in size, poor girl, but in years, you know), Uncle Con would have shut the door on me if he hadn't been afraid OEnone would die of grief. He thought me cad enough to cook up some plot, and contrive to marry the girl behind his back--for her millions. But when I got the earldom, a change came o'er the spirit of his dream.... He's a born snob, is my half-Uncle Constantine! He always loved a title, and hoped he could squeeze one for himself out of some British Government, but he's never succeeded, so far. Instead of chasing me away with a stick, he invited me to come as often as possible. And just before you arranged to sail he made me a definite offer." "You don't mean----" Mary Sorel broke down in the midst of her sentence. "I do. He said if I would marry OEnone, and 'make his daughter a countess' (real old melodrama stuff!) he'd settle a million pounds on me, on our wedding-day. Also, I'd inherit OEnone's private fortune. Darling Marise, dear Mrs. Sorel, if you knew all the money troubles I've had, and have still, you'd forgive me if I told you this was a temptation." "But you didn't yield?" Mary prompted. "No-o. Because Marise was sailing for the States, and I couldn't let her come over here without me, to be gobbled up by some beastly American millionaire. I had to be with her. I had to!" "That is real love," cried Mary. "I'm proud of you." "I'm not proud of myself," he mumbled. "I got that bally mission. I persuaded Uncle Con to believe--at least I hope he more or less believed!--that it was thrust on me, instead of my doing all I knew to bag it. I told him I'd decide directly I returned to England--which would be soon. But it hasn't been soon. He's a man who gets inside information about official things. He knows the mission is finished, and I could go home any day I liked. Presently, if I'm not jolly careful, he'll find out why I don't like. Then my goose will be cooked. Marise--Mrs. Sorel--I simply can't afford to have that happen." "What do you propose to do?" Mary challenged him, dry-lipped. The black eyes blazed despair. "What can I do?" "Tony," said Marise softly, "I've got 'normous lots of money saved up; 'most two hundred thousand dollars. You don't need to grovel in the dust to any old Greek banker, if he is your uncle. So there!"