"Your sureness was the result of trust in me, as a decent man in spite of the fact that you think I'm not a gentleman?" "Ye-es, I suppose it was trust." "Then why that 'but' just now?" "Oh--it's rather hard to put into words what was to come after the 'but'--without hurting your feelings. And I don't want to do that. It only makes things a lot worse." "I don't mind having my feelings hurt. I'm hardened. Besides, if you hurt mine I'm free to hurt yours if I like in return. Shoot!" "Well--I believe you mean what you've said to me--and shown me. I do trust you--now. But for how long dare I? Can you trust yourself?" He smiled down at her; and it _looked_ like a scornful smile, but of course it couldn't be that. "Your question is easy to answer," he said. "I trust myself, and shall continue to trust myself, because there's no temptation to resist. I shall keep to my own half of this suite, with the less difficulty because I haven't the slightest wish to intrude on yours. Now you know where you stand. But there's a knock! I suppose that's your maid." CHAPTER XXII A SHOCK AND A SNUB OR TWO It was the maid. It was also Mrs. Sorel, who pushed past Céline and darted into the hall. "My darling!" she shrilled at sight of Marise. "You look as if you'd had a most horrible shock!" It was just this that the girl had had: the shock of her life. She, undesired--_not_ a temptation! Alone with a man--a mere brute--who had the strength and the legal right to take her against her will, but remained cold; did not want her. She might have believed this statement to be a sequel to that hint about "hurting her feelings if he liked," but Garth's face was cold. It might have been carved from rock. It looked like rock--that red-brown kind. There was no fierce, controlled passion in the tawny eyes, such as men on the stage would carefully have betrayed in these situations, or such as men had far from carefully betrayed to her in real life, disgusting or frightening her at the time: though afterwards the scene had pleased, or--well _flattered_ her to dwell on in safe retrospect. It was rather glorious, though sometimes painful, she'd often said to herself, the power she had to make men _feel_. Yet this Snow-man didn't feel at all. He simply _didn't_! You could see that by his icicle of a face. "You mustn't worry, dear Mums," soothed Marise. "I'm doing the best thing for everyone: keeping up appearances! And as Major Garth dislikes me--I am not his style, it seems--I'm perfectly safe. Safe as if I were in our rooms, with you." Garth gazed gravely at Mrs. Sorel. "She's safer than with you, Madame. I assure you she's as safe as--as if she were in cold storage." Mary gasped. Marise laughed. But she felt as though she'd read in a yellow newspaper that Miss Sorel was the plainest girl and the worst actress in the world. * * * * *