"And that I intended to take you with me. But that won't be for a few days, till you've had time to settle your affairs. I don't want to rush you. What I ask you to decide now is for meanwhile, before we start." "I shall never start anywhere with you--or live anywhere meanwhile with you." "Very well then, that's that. Now I know where I am." He seized the speaking-tube, but Marise caught his hand. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "Stop the taxi and get out. The snap's off." The girl was about to exclaim, "But you can't leave me like this!" when it occurred to her that, desperado as he was turning out, it would be well to take him at his word; at all events, to a certain extent. "Very well," she said. "I shall tell everyone that you've gone West on an important mission. V.C.'s are always expected to have missions." "And I shall tell everyone that I've done nothing of the sort. I'll go back to the Belmore, 'phone to the Plaza and countermand the suite I took, and allow myself to be interviewed by all the reporters, who'll swarm round me like flies round a honeypot. There'll be plenty of flies left for you. You can give them honey or vinegar, I don't care which. It's your concern, not mine. I don't even care what they make of the combination: my story and yours. It'll be _some_ story, though. That's the one thing sure." "You're an absolute brute!" cried Marise. "What did you expect? You heard from Severance that I was a bounder. I'm a fighting man. That's about all, for the moment." "You mean, you're fighting me?" "Not in the least. I'm fighting the battle of appearances, which means I'm fighting _for_ you." "What makes you think there'll be reporters waiting?" Marise changed the subject. "Did you tell anyone?" "The manager of your hotel and mine. I didn't tell him in confidence. There was no idea of keeping the marriage a secret, was there?" "No-o." "Well, then! Am I or am I not to stop the taxi and get out?" "Wait," Marise temporised. "You must please understand that I'm not going to live with you as your wife." "I haven't asked you to do so, although you did ask me to become your husband. After last Sunday, I would never have started the subject, or even have tried to meet you again. Please, on your part, understand that." The girl's breath was caught away for the dozenth time. She spoke more quietly. "I know you haven't asked me, in so many words," she admitted. "But you spoke of a _suite_." "Certainly I spoke of a suite. I thought you and your mother were anxious to keep up conventions. Though I'm not Severance's sort of gentleman--perhaps _because_ I'm not--you can trust me not to behave like a brute, even though you're thinking that I speak like one. Or, if you can't trust me as far as that, you ought never to have run the risk you have run." "But can I trust you--to keep to the bargain?" "I've told you that owing to your own act, there _is_ no bargain. Haven't you solved that 'puzzle' yet?" "I have not."