"From Horace Mayfield," he said huskily. "He is coming down today, on a rather important piece of business, and will probably stay the night. By the way, Darnley, it would give me great pleasure if you would dine with us this evening." Ralph would have refused. It would have been an exquisite pleasure to spend a long summer evening with Mary in that delightful old house, but then it seemed impossible to be under the same roof as Horace Mayfield. It appeared strange that that handsome, plausible, well-bred scoundrel should be a friend of Dashwood. Ralph was framing a courteous refusal when he became conscious that Mary was regarding him with a pleading glance. Her face was weary and anxious-looking, her eyes were alight with an appeal for help. She was asking Ralph to come, and yet she did not want her father to see how eager she was. "I shall be delighted," Ralph answered. "Half-past seven, I think. And now I must be going." Ralph turned away into the great dim hall followed by Mary. A ray of sunlight fell upon her beautiful face and grateful blue eyes. "That was very good of you," she murmured. "Mr. Darnley, Ralph, if I should want a friend in the near future, I feel assured that I can rely upon you." "I love you with my whole heart and soul," Ralph replied. "And some day you will give that love to me. I would give my life for you, if necessary, and you know it." CHAPTER III. HORACE MAYFIELD The cloth had been drawn in the old-fashioned way, so that the candles in the ancient silver branches made pools of brown light on the polished mahogany of the dining table. Here were palms and flowers, feathery fronds, rays of light streaking the sides of blushing grapes and peaches with the downy bloom on them. The candle rays glistened sombrely on deep ruby red wines in crystal decanters; the table was as a bath of silver flame in a background of sombre brown shadows. A noiseless servant or two, gliding about, ministered to the wants of the guests. How peaceful, how restful and refined it all was, Ralph thought, the only jarring note being the person opposite him, a clean-shaven, hard-featured man with a glass screwed in his left eye. And what a hard, firm mouth he had. He was quite at his ease, too, in Dashwood's presence; he chatted with glib assurance to the man whom he had robbed as deliberately as if he had picked his pocket. Actually he had met Ralph in the drawing-room an hour before, with a smile and a proffered hand, as if they had been two men taking up the threads of a desirable acquaintance.