He would marry again, and his second wife would reap the benefit.
You need me more than Bernard needs me, and I need you... But there's
the boy--"

"And," said Peignton heavily, "Teresa!"

Cassandra glanced at him swiftly, and into her eyes came fear.

"Dane... will you, can you,--marry her _new_?"

"I have told her that it's impossible, but she insisted on keeping on
the engagement. I stood out, but she said that possibly your name might
be dragged in if the engagement were broken off just now, after our
visit to you.--I could not stand the risk of that, so--it was left!"

"And you are engaged to her still?"

"Nominally. Yes. She is very considerate. She makes it as easy for me
as she can... That's a hateful thing to say! I hate myself for saying
it. If it's hard for us, it's harder for her. She's the one left out.
She might have made things unbearable. Can you imagine what it would
have been if she had blurted out the whole tale,--told it to her own
people, to have it handed round the neighbourhood, with a hundred
exaggerations within twenty-four hours? A girl might so easily have
lost her head under the circumstances, but she--I don't think she
reproached me once! She seemed all the way through to think of me more
than herself.--I never saw her more sweet!"

A vision of Teresa had come into his mind as with flushing cheeks she
had said, "There might be children!" Many times over had he recalled
that moment, and always with the same tenderness and pain. Cassandra
recognised the note in his voice, and felt a very human pang of
jealousy.

"What did she say about _Me_?"

"You and I count as one. We must do. There's no considering us apart.
She fears that if I were free, it would be one barrier removed, and we
should be the more tempted.--By holding me to my word, she is doing all
that is in her power to prevent--"

Cassandra's short upper lip curved with a touch of scorn. It touched
her pride that insignificant Teresa Mallison should presume to lay down
rules for her guidance. It had pleased her to admit the girl to a
certain amount of intimacy, but always it had been she who had
condescended, Teresa who gratefully received. Cassandra was not a snob,
but she was an Earl's daughter, and the consciousness of her birth was
very present at that moment.

"It seems," she said coldly, "that we are in Teresa's hands! She has
given you her orders, and you have obeyed."

Then Peignton looked at