ed
him.

"Well?" she said. "You're very odd. But--why?"

"I'm marrying her for Blent's sake--and I think she's marrying me for
Blent's sake."

"I call that horrible."

"No." He sprang to his feet. "If Blent was yours, what would you do to
keep it?"

"Everything," she answered. "Everything--except sell myself, Harry."

She was superb. By a natural instinct, all affectation forgotten, she
had thrown herself into Addie Tristram's attitude. There was the head on
the bend of the arm, there was the dainty foot stuck out. There was all
the defiance of a world insensate to love, greedy to find sin, dull to
see grace and beauty, blind to a woman's self while it cavilled at a
woman's deeds.

"Everything except sell yourself?" he repeated, his eyes set on her
face.

"Yes--_Per Ensem Justitia!_" she laughed. "But not lies, and not buying
and selling, Harry."

"My word is given. I must marry her now."

"Better fling Blent away!" she flashed out in a brilliant indignation.

"And if I did that?"

"A woman would love you for yourself," she cried, leaning forward to him
with hands clasped.

Again he rose and paced the length of the Long Gallery. The moment was
come. There was a great alliance against him. He fought still. At every
step he took he came to something that still was his, that he prized,
that he loved, that meant much to him, that typified his position as
Tristram of Blent. A separate pang waited on every step, a great agony
rose in him with the thought that he might be walking this room as its
master for the last time. Yes, it had come to that. For against all,
threatening to conquer all, was the girl who sat in his mother's chair,
her very body asserting the claim that her thoughts did not know and her
mouth could not utter. And yet his mood had affected her. The upturned
eyes were full of excitement, the parted lips waited for a word from
him. Mina Zabriska had left her terrace and gone to bed, declaring that
she was still on Harry's side; but she was not with him in this fight.

He returned to Cecily and stood by her. The sympathy between them kept
her still; she watched, she waited. For minutes he was silent; all
thought of time was gone. Now she knew that he had something great to
say. Was it that he would and could have no more to do with Janie Iver,
that another had come, that his word must go, and that he loved her? She
could hardly believe that. It was so short a time since he had seen her.
Yet