As Ralph spoke his eyes were fixed on Mayfield's. He was searching keenly for any sign of anger or emotion. But Mayfield did not betray himself. There was a red spark in his eyes and the big veins stood on his forehead, but nothing further. And as Ralph proceeded a faint smile grew at the corners of the cruel mouth. "This is exceedingly interesting," he said, "and to think that Sir Vincent should have kept this from so old a friend as myself." There was mocking bitterness in the speech and Dashwood fairly writhed under it. He seemed to hang in a kind of agony on the next word. His sigh of relief as Mayfield turned from him was not lost on Mary. Mayfield turned abruptly to the girl. "This will make a great difference to you," he said. "For my own part, I am disappointed at the strange turn of affairs. Still, I am philosophic enough to take my chances. In reality I came here to say goodbye to you. I will not see you for some time to come." The whole thing was so cool, so icily audacious, that Mary had no words for reply. This man had accepted the change in the situation with instant readiness, there was not so much as a shade of regret in his voice. Mary had gone out of the sphere of his affection, and he was prepared to drop her like an old glove. The blood flamed into her face at this fresh humiliation; the pride of the family was serving her badly now. Her trembling hands went out to Ralph. He saw what was passing in her mind. "Take me away from here," she whispered. "Take me out into the fresh air or I shall die. What have I done to deserve this degradation? And get my father to come, too. Has he lost all his manhood that he stays here?" They went out into the sunshine and the air at length, and Dashwood was alone with Mayfield. The latter closed the door and lighted a cigarette. There was a grim ferocity in his eyes that caused Dashwood to turn sick. "So you've done it, you rascal," Mayfield muttered. "I daresay you will tell me that your hand was more or less forced. Perhaps it was. And yet if I raise my little finger you will pass the next ten years of your life in gaol." "Don't," Dashwood said with difficulty, "don't talk like that. The cards were all of them literally forced on me. Why should you mind?" "Why should I mind? Why, man alive, you have 'queered my pitch' as some of your dissolute companions would say. I was going to marry Mary Dashwood, the great heiress, everything was ready to my hand. A little later and the thing would have been accomplished. Only one thing bothered me--I am at my wit's ends for some ready money, which I must have before long. And, as things stand at present, Mary Dashwood could not raise anything on her expectations. But I was going to play the bold game and risk everything, even my liberty, on this stake. I was never more surprised in my life than when that fellow Darnley explained the situation. I nearly gave you away."