But somehow he did not find it easy to broach the subject uppermost in his thoughts. Irene was grave and _distrait_ this morning, with a chilly reserve about her that did not court lover-like advances. All her bright spirits and coquettish wiles of last night had vanished. He was dismayed at her relapse into her old, _ennuyed_ self. She would not encourage his advances. She was absolutely frigid. So he was obliged to plunge into the subject with an inward shiver like one about taking a bath in ice-cold water. "My darling, can you guess what I am going to ask you this morning?" he ventured. She looked at him with a crimsoning face and flashing eyes. "I wish you would not call me names, Mr. Revington," she said, with petulant dignity. "Names!" he echoed, blankly. "Yes," she replied, loftily. "Darling, and all such names as belong to the jargon of love, I heartily despise, and I must beg you to spare me their infliction." "But you have promised to marry me, Irene," he expostulated. "I have not promised to love you, though," she retorted with spirit. "Please remember that, Mr. Revington, and spare me your love-sick phrases!" He stared at her, angered and abashed. Her purple-blue eyes sparkled with scorn, her sweet, red lips were curled disdainfully. He kept down his bitter anger with an effort, remembering the boon he wished to crave. "Do not forget that our compact was a mere matter of the bargain and sale of the secret you held," Irene continued, bitterly. "You drove me into it by your threats of disgracing me in the eyes of the world. Let us keep to the letter of our bargain. You will never have any terms of endearment from me, and I expect and desire none from you. On such terms they are simply revolting." "As you will," he retorted, in sullen wrath. "But I cannot see what you expect to gain by your stand-off and let-alone policy. I shall be your husband all the same, and instead of having me for your devoted slave, you will make me a tyrannical master." A queer little smile curled her lips. Her heart beat with a sudden exultant thought. Fate had placed it out of her power to sacrifice herself for her mother's sake. She could not but be glad, although her heart bled for that mother's griefs and wrongs. "Shall I tell him?" she asked herself, almost tempted to defy him then and there. Her weak heart failed her at the thought of the story the wretch would pour into Mrs. Leslie's ears. How would she meet pity and contempt in those dear eyes that had looked at her so kindly. "I will wait. I cannot tell him yet," she concluded, weakly. But his next words fell like a thunder-clap on her startled hearing. "Irene, I wish you would name an early day for our marriage," he said. "Early," she stammered, taken aback. He smiled grimly. "Yes, it's a mere bargain, you know, and, like all business compacts, should be ratified early." She quivered all over with resentment at his tone, but she held her peace.