r attendant; while Mrs.
St John Deloraine, with a beaming face, gave the coachman the order
"Home."

"We shall see you to-morrow at luncheon," she cried to Barton; and no
offer of hospitality had ever been more welcome.

He began to walk home, turning over his discoveries in his thoughts,
when he suddenly came to a dead halt.

"By George!" he said out loud; "I'll go back and have it out with her at
once. I've had enough of this shillyshally."

He turned and strode off in the direction of Cheyne Walk. In a few
minutes he was standing at the familiar door.

"Will you ask Miss--Miss Burnside if she can see me for one moment?" he
said to the servant "I have forgotten something she wished me to do for
her," he added in a mumble.

Then he was taken into the boudoir, and presently Margaret appeared,
still in her bonnet and furs.

"I couldn't help coming back, Margaret," he said, as soon as she entered
the room. "I want to tell you that it is all right, that you needn't
think--I mean, that I know all about it, and that there is nothing,
_nothing_ to prevent us--I mean" Margaret, if you _really_ care for
me--"

Then he came to a dead stop.

It was not a very easy situation. Barton could not exactly say to
Margaret, "My dear girl, you need not worry yourself about Maitland. He
does not care a pin for you; he'll be delighted at being released. He is
in love with Mrs. St. John Deloraine."

That would have been a statement both adequate and explicit; but it
could not have been absolutely flattering to Margaret, and it would have
been exceedingly unfair to her hostess.

The girl came forward to the table, and stood with her hand on it,
looking at Barton. She did not help him out in any way; her attitude was
safe, but embarrassing.

He made a charge, as it were, at the position--a random, desperate
charge.

"Margaret, can you trust me?" he asked.

She merely put out her hand, which he seized.

"Well, then, believe me when I tell you that I know everything about
your doubts; that I know more than anyone else can do; and that there
is _nothing_ to prevent us from being happy. More than that, if you
will only agree to make me happy, you will make everyone else happy too.
Can't you take it on trust? Can't you believe me?"

Margaret said nothing; but she hid her face on Barton's shoulder. She
_did_ believe him.

The position was carried!

CHAPTER XV.--The Mark of Cain.

Next morning Barton entered his sitti