gering on the stage after the curtain had gone down; the
varied excitement, the fierce play of emotion was over; the actors
hardly appeared interesting.

What he said was for Lord Ronsdale alone; after Gillett had gone, he
laid down a condition. In certain respects it was a moment of triumph;
but he experienced no exultation, only a supreme weariness, an anxiety
to be done with the affair, to go. But the one point had first to be
made, emphasized; to be accepted by the other violently, quietly,
resignedly,--John Steele did not care what his attitude might be; what
he chiefly felt was that he did not wish to waste much time on him.

"And if I refuse to let you dictate in a purely private concern?" Lord
Ronsdale, white with passion, had answered.

"The end will be the same for you. As matters stand, Sir Charles no
doubt thinks still that you would make a desirable _parti_ for his
niece. His wife, Lady Wray, unquestionably shares that opinion. Their
combined influence might in time prevail, and Jocelyn Wray yield to
their united wishes. This misfortune," with cutting deadliness of tone,
"it is obvious must be averted. You will consent to withdraw all
pretensions in that direction, or you will force me to make public this
paper. A full exposition of the case I think would materially affect Sir
Charles and Lady Wray's attitude as to the desirability of an alliance
between their family and yours."

"And yourself? You forget," with a sneer, "how it would affect you!"

"Myself!" John Steele laughed. "You fool! Do you imagine I would
hesitate for that reason?"

The nobleman looked at him, at the glowing, contemptuous eyes.
"Hesitate? Perhaps not! You love her yourself, and--"

John Steele stepped toward him. "Stop, or--I have once been almost on
the point of killing you to-night--don't--" he broke off. "The
condition? You consent or not?"

"And if I--? You would--?"

"Keep your cowardly secret? Yes!"

To this the other had replied; of necessity the scene had dragged along
a little farther; then John Steele found himself on the stairway, going
down.

It was over, this long, stubborn contest; he hardly heard or saw a cab
drive up and stop before the house as he went out to the street, was
scarcely conscious of some one leaving it, some one about to enter who
suddenly stopped at sight of him and exclaimed eagerly, warmly. He was
not surprised; with apathy he listened to the new-comer's words;
rambling, disconnected, a