“Words are useless, Miss Stirling, for, after all, I never really loved you, and you entrapped me somehow into an engagement that my heart never sanctioned. The glamour of passion quickly faded, and when your own folly gave me an excuse to gain an honorable release from fetters that began to gall, I was glad to retreat with honor. I have to tell you things thus frankly, because it is the only way out of your efforts at a reconciliation that can never be effected, since my whole heart is given to another.” All the while he was unconscious of Leola, lying there like a dead girl on the ground, and he continued, impatiently: “Pray get up, Miss Stirling; it is embarrassing to have you kneel to me. Be seated, I beg you, and calm yourself. This is certainly a very unexpected rencontre. I did not know you were at Wheatlands. Has not Leola, then, told you she is my promised wife?” Sinking, sullenly, to the arbor bench as he raised her to her feet, she hissed, furiously: “The silly little rustic told me she was in love with a man named Ray Chester, but how was I to guess that her poor artist lover was the millionaire society man, Chester Olyphant, masquerading under a false name and guise, perhaps to deceive a pretty, ignorant country girl, with more beauty than brains?” He recoiled in horror from her bold accusation, his handsome face went white, his blue eyes flashed lightning. “How dare you?” he thundered, clenching his fist; then it fell helplessly to his side. “You are a woman; I cannot strike you. I can only reason and explain.” “Yes, explain, if you can, for your conduct certainly appears very suspicious,” Jessie Stirling answered, with a bitter, taunting laugh that nearly drove him wild. And yet, in all his anger, he knew she was right; it did look bad, this masquerade; and, although he despised the girl, he knew he must explain for Leola’s sake. Still unconscious that his bonny sweetheart lay upon the ground, so close that if he stepped backward he must stumble over her senseless form, he glanced out of the arbor to see if she were coming, and then turned back to Jessie, saying, hoarsely: “It looks suspicious, I grant you, but when a man is cursed with immense wealth, and knows himself constantly the prey of designing women wanting to marry him for his money, is it not excusable that, by a little harmless deception, he may win a girl’s heart by love alone, and thus ensure his future happiness?” “Bah! a slim excuse!” she sneered; but, restraining his resentment, he continued, earnestly: