She clasped her hands in her lap. “If I tell you, my lord, I fear it will make you very angry.”

“You can’t make me more angry than you’ve done already,” he said. “I want the truth now. Let me have it, if you please!”

She was silent for a moment, looking into the fire. He sat still, watching her, and presently she said in her quiet way: “Sophia thought that she could make you wed her. She is very young and silly. My mother too—” she coloured painfully—“is not very wise. I did not think that you would marry Sophia. I thought that you would try to make her your mistress, and I was afraid for her because—because she behaved—foolishly, and because I knew that you would ruin her.” She paused, but he said nothing. “That letter you sent,” she went on, “was directed to Miss Challoner. I am the elder, you see, and it came to my hand. I knew it was writ by you, but I opened it. Sophia never saw it, my lord.”

“Then all you told me at Newhaven was a lie?”

Miss Challoner flushed. “Yes, sir, it was a lie. I wanted to be sure that you would never want to see Sophia again and it seemed to me that if only I could make you believe that she had tricked you—like that—you would be done with her for ever.”

“You were right,” said Vidal grimly.

“Yes. Only I did not know that you would force me to go instead. I didn’t know I should be obliged to tell you all this. I thought you would let me go at once, and I could travel back to London, and only my mother and Sophia be the wiser. Of course, I see now that I was very foolish. But that is the whole truth, my lord.”

“Foolish?” he said. “You were mad! Good God, what a damnable muddle!” He sprang up, and began to pace to and fro. Over his shoulder he threw at her: “You little fool, Sophia was never worth the risk you took. You may have saved her from me, but there will be others soon enough.”

“Oh no,” she said distressfully. “Oh no, my lord!”

“I tell you, yes. Now what the devil’s to be done to get you out of this coil?”

“If you would arrange a passage for me on the packet, my lord, I could manage very well,” she said.

A swift smile lit his eyes. “What, dare you brave the sea again?”

“I must,” she answered. “I dare say it will not be so rough this tune.”

The smile died; he shook his head impatiently. “No, you can’t do that. There’s no going home now.”

She looked startled. “Where else can I go? I must go home.”

“You cant,” he repeated. “Do you realize you’ve been in my company since yesterday? My poor girl, it’s you who are ruined, not Sophia.”

She said placidly: “But I am not ruined. I can think of some tale to tell that will satisfy people.”

He gave a short laugh. “Once it’s known you were aboard my yacht, no one will believe you innocent, my dear,” he said.

“But no one need—” She stopped, remembering the note she had left for her mother.

He read her thought. “Left a letter, did you? Of course you did! What woman ever did not?”

She felt abashed, and said nothing. He came back to the fireplace, and stood scowling down at her. “Let’s finish this bout with buttons off,” he said. “I don’t care to make mistakes. The fault may be mine, but what business have you with a mother—with a sister such as Sophia?”

“Sir,” said Miss Challoner, giving nun a very straight look,

“I don’t design to be thought above mamma or Sophia.”

“Design!” he said scornfully. “You are above them. They

—but I don’t wish to offend you more than I have done.”

Miss Challoner said with composure: “You have insulted me in every conceivable way, sir, so pray do not boggle at plain speaking now. I assure you I shall hear you with equanimity.”

“Very well,” said his lordship, cold as ice. “Then I shall take leave to inform you, ma’am, that the manners of your parent and sister are neither those of persons of Quality, nor those of virtuous females. You, upon the other hand, are apparently both virtuous and gently bred. And,” continued his lordship with a flash of anger, “it is not my custom to abduct respectable young females.”

“I did not want you to abduct me,” Miss Challoner pointed out. “I am very sorry for your mistake, and I fear that my own conduct may have been partially to blame.”

“Your conduct,” said the Marquis crushingly, “was damnable! The manners you assumed at Newhaven were those of the veriest trollop; your whole escapade was rash, wanton, and ill-judged. If I had used my riding whip to school you as I promised you would have had no more than your just deserts.”

Miss Challoner sat very straight in her chair, and looked steadfastly down into her lap. “I could not think of any other way to keep Sophia safe from you,” she said in a small voice. “Of course, I see now that it was madness.” She swallowed something in her throat. “I never thought that you would take me instead.”

“You are a little fool,” replied the Marquis irritably.

“I may be a little fool,” retorted Miss Challoner, plucking up spirit, “but at least I meant it for the best. While as for you, my lord, you meant nothing but wicked mischief right from the start. You tried to rum Sophia, and when I would not let you, you ruined me instead.”

“Acquit me,” said his lordship coldly. “I don’t ruin persons of your quality.” .

“If you call me a respectable young female again, my lord, you will induce a fit of the vapours in me,” interrupted Miss Challoner with asperity. “If you had discovered my respectability earlier, it would have been the better for both of us.”

“It would indeed,” he agreed.

Miss Challoner hunted for her handkerchief, and blew her little nose defiantly. It was a prosaic action. In her place Sophia would have made play with wet eyelashes. Further, Sophia would never have permitted herself to sniff. Miss Challoner undoubtedly sniffed. Lord Vidal, whom feminine tears would have left unmoved, was touched. He dropped his hand on her shoulder, and said in a softer voice: “You’ve no need to cry, my dear. I told you I don’t ruin ladies of your quality.”

She said, with a challenging gleam in her eye: “I am rather tired or I assure you I should not indulge in a weakness I despise.”

“Egad, I believe you wouldn’t,” said his lordship.

Miss Challoner put the handkerchief away. “If you know what I must do next, I wish you would tell me, sir.”

“There’s only one thing you can do,” said his lordship. “You must marry me.”

The inn parlour spun round before Miss Challoner’s eyes. She shut them, unable to bear a sight so reminiscent of all she had undergone aboard the Albatross. “What?” she said faintly.

Vidal raised his brows. “You seem amazed,” he said.

“I am amazed,” replied Miss Challoner, venturing to open her eyes again.

“You have a remarkably pretty notion of my character, ma’am,” he said ironically.

Miss Challoner rose from her chair, and curtsied. “You are extremely obliging, my lord, but I must humbly decline the honour of becoming your wife.”

“You will marry me,” said his lordship, “if I have to force you to the altar.”

She blinked at him. “Are you mad, sir? You cannot possibly wish to marry me.”

“Of course I don’t wish to marry you!” he said impatiently. “I scarcely know you. But I play my cards in accordance with the rules. I have a number of vices, but abducting innocent damsels and casting them adrift on the world is not one of them. Pray have a little sense, ma’am! You eloped with me, leaving word of it with your mother; if I let you go you could not reach your home again until tomorrow night at the earliest. By that time—if I know your mother and sister at all—the whole of your acquaintance will be apprised of your conduct. Your reputation will be so smirched not a soul will receive you. And this, ma’am, is to go down to my account! I tell you plainly, I’ve no mind to become an object of infamy.”

Miss Challoner pressed a hand to her forehead. “Am I to marry you to save my face, or yours?” she demanded. “Both,” replied his lordship.

She looked doubtfully at him for a moment. “My lord, I fear I am too tired to think very clearly,” she sighed.

“You’d best go to bed,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, and held her away from him, looking down at her. She met his gaze frankly, wondering what he would say next. He surprised her yet again. “Don’t look so worn, my dear; it’s the devil of a coil, but I won’t let it harm you. Good night”

Unaccountable tears stung her eyelids. She stepped back, and dropped a curtsy. “Thank you,” she said shakily. “Good night, my lord.”

Chapter VIII

miss challoner had pleaded fatigue, but it was long before she slept. Her desperate problem leered at her half through the night, and it was not until she had reached some sort of a decision that she could achieve slumber.

She was shocked to realize that for a few breathless moments she had forgotten Sophia in a brief vision of herself wedded to his lordship. “So that’s the truth, is it?” said Miss Challoner severely to herself. “You are in love with him, and you’ve known it for weeks.”

But it was not a notorious Marquis with whom she had fallen in love; it was with the wild, sulky, unmanageable boy that she saw behind the rake. “I could manage him,” she sighed. “Oh, but I could!” She did not permit herself to indulge in this dream for long. Marriage, on all counts, was out of the question. He did not give the snap of his fingers for her; he must marry, when the tune came, some demure damsel of his own degree; and—the greatest bar of all—she could not steal a bridegroom from under Sophia’s nose.

Having disposed thus of his lordship, Miss Challoner set herself resolutely to think of her own future. Vidal had shown her the impossibility of a return to Bloomsbury; it would be equally impossible to seek shelter with her grandfather. After pondering somewhat drearily upon this sudden isolation, she dried her eyes, and tried to think of an asylum. At the end of two hours, being a female of considerable strength of mind, she decided that her wisest course would be to remain in France, to assume a new name, and to try to obtain a post as governess in a respectable French household.