be the more poignant some day, I assure you."

"Then you really intend to act vindictively?"

"I shall act just as I think proper," she exclaimed, halting a moment
and facing him. "Please understand that though I have been forced in the
past to act as you have indicated, because I feared you--because I had
my reputation and my father's honour at stake--I hold you in terror no
longer, Mr. Flockart."

"Well, I'm glad you've told me that," he said, laughing as though he
treated her declaration with humour. "It's just as well, perhaps, that
we should now thoroughly understand each other. Yet if I were you I
wouldn't do anything rash. By telling the truth you'd be the only
sufferer, you know."

"The only sufferer! Why?"

"Well, you don't imagine I should be such a fool as to admit that what
you said was true, do you?"

She looked at him in surprise. It had never occurred to her that he,
with his innate unscrupulousness and cunning, might deny her
allegations, and might even be able to prove them false.

"The truth could not be denied," she said simply. "Recollect the cutting
from the Edinburgh paper."

"Truth is denied every day in courts of law," he retorted. "No. Before
you act foolishly, remember that, put to the test, your word would stand
alone against mine and those of other people.

"Why, the very story you would tell would be so utterly amazing and
startling that the world would declare you had invented it. Reflect upon
it for a moment, and you'll find, my dear girl, that silence is golden
in this, as in any other circumstance in life."

She raised her eyes to his, and met his gaze firmly. "So you defy me to
speak?" she cried. "You think that I will still remain in this accursed
bondage of yours?"

"I utter no threats, my dear child," replied Flockart. "I have never in
my life threatened you. I merely venture to point out certain
difficulties which you might have in substantiating any allegation which
you might make against me. For that reason, if for none other, is it not
better for us to be friends?"

"I am not the friend of my father's enemy!" she declared.

"You are quite heroic," he declared with a covert sneer. "If you really
are bent upon providing the halfpenny newspapers with a fresh sensation,
pray let me know in plenty of time, won't you?"

"I've had sufficient of your taunts," cried the girl, bursting into a
flood of hot tears. "Leave me. I--I'll say no further word to you."

"Except to