“They don't know you as I do,” said Kedzie; “but even I can't expect you to forgive everything. I've lied to you about everything except about loving you, and I was a long while telling you the truth about that. But now you know all there is to know about me, and I wouldn't blame you for despising me. Of course I don't expect you to want to marry me any longer, so I'll give you back your beautiful engagement ring.” With her arms across his knees, one of her delicate hands began to draw from the other a gold circlet knobbed with diamonds. “Don't do that,” Jim said, taking her hands in his. “The engagement stands.” “But how can it, darling?” said Kedzie. “You can't love me any more.” “Of course I do, more and more.” “But you can never marry me, and surely you don't want--” Suddenly she ran plump into the situation her mother had imagined and encouraged. She blushed at the collision with it, and became a very allegory of innocence confronted with abhorrent evil. “Of course I don't,” said Dyckman, divining exactly what she meant. “I'll find this Gilfoyle and buy him up or beat him to a pulp.” Kedzie lifted her downcast eyes in gratitude for such a godlike resolution. But before she could cry out in praise of it she cried out in terror. For right before her stood the long-lost Gilfoyle. CHAPTER XXXVI During his long wait this evening Gilfoyle had grown almost uncontrollable with impatience to undertake the assault. His landlady had warned him not to return to his room until he brought some cash on account. He was for making the charge the moment he saw Jim Dyckman enter the building, but Connery insisted on giving Dyckman time to get forward with his courtship. They had seen the maid come out of the servants' entrance and hurry up the street to the vain tryst Connery had arranged with her to get her out of the way. At length, when time had passed sufficiently, they had crossed to the apartment-house and told the elevator-boy they were expected by the tenants above. He took them up without question. They pretended to ring the bell there, waited for the elevator to disappear, then walked down a flight of steps and paused at the fatal sill. Connery inserted the key stealthily into the lock, turned it, opened the door in silence, and let Gilfoyle slip through. He followed and closed the door without shock. They heard Kedzie's murmurous tones and the rumble of Dyckman's answer. Then Gilfoyle strode forward. He saw Kedzie coiled on the floor with her elbows on Dyckman's knees. He caught her eye, and her start of bewilderment held him spellbound a moment. Then he cried: “There you are! I've got you! You faithless little beast.” Dyckman rose to an amazing height, lifted Kedzie to her feet, and answered: “Who the devil are you, and what the devil do you want?” “I'm the husband of that shameless woman; that's who I am,” Gilfoyle shrilled, a little cowed by Dyckman's stature.