fusion, until the gleam of her blue eyes
announced its source to lie in anger. That comforted him; since he had
affronted her, he was reassured. It did not occur to him that the anger
might have another source.

"Andre and I have been playmates from infancy. He is very dear to me,
too; almost I regard him as a brother. Were I in need of help, and were
my uncle not available, Andre would be the first man to whom I should
turn. Are you sufficiently answered, monsieur? Or is there more of me
you would desire revealed?"

He bit his lip. He was unnerved, he thought, this morning; otherwise the
silly suspicion with which he had offended could never have occurred to
him.

He bowed very low. "Mademoiselle, forgive that I should have troubled
you with such a question. You have answered more fully than I could have
hoped or wished."

He said no more than that. He waited for her to resume. At a loss, she
sat in silence awhile, a pucker on her white brow, her fingers nervously
drumming on the table. At last she flung herself headlong against the
impassive, polished front that he presented.

"I have come, monsieur, to beg you to put off this meeting."

She saw the faint raising of his dark eyebrows, the faintly regretful
smile that scarcely did more than tinge his fine lips, and she hurried
on. "What honour can await you in such an engagement, monsieur?"

It was a shrewd thrust at the pride of race that she accounted his
paramount sentiment, that had as often lured him into error as it had
urged him into good.

"I do not seek honour in it, mademoiselle, but--I must say it--justice.
The engagement, as I have explained, is not of my seeking. It has been
thrust upon me, and in honour I cannot draw back."

"Why, what dishonour would there be in sparing him? Surely, monsieur,
none would call your courage in question? None could misapprehend your
motives."

"You are mistaken, mademoiselle. My motives would most certainly be
misapprehended. You forget that this young man has acquired in the past
week a certain reputation that might well make a man hesitate to meet
him."

She brushed that aside almost contemptuously, conceiving it the merest
quibble.

"Some men, yes. But not you, M. le Marquis."

Her confidence in him on every count was most sweetly flattering. But
there was a bitterness behind the sweet.

"Even I, mademoiselle, let me assure you. And there is more than that.
This quarrel which M. Moreau has forced upon m