roy himself," she said, with cold defiance.

"Don't let's argue about it. The thing's done--done!"

In his voice there was a sound of almost wild despair, but his face
preserved its hard, mask-like look.

"And there's no returning from destruction," he added. "Those who try to
fancy there is are just fools."

He looked up at her as she stood before him, and seemed suddenly struck
by the expression on her face.

"Who's to be the one to destroy you?" he said. "D'you think the Unknown
God has singled me out for the job? Or do you really expect to escape
scot-free after making the sign of the cross over so many lost souls."

"The sign of the cross?"

"Yes. Don't you remember when I told you of Brayfield's death? You've
never given him a thought since, I suppose. But I'll make you keep on
thinking about me."

"What has happened to-night?" she asked sharply.

"Happened?"

"To make you talk like this?"

"Nothing has happened."

"That's not true. Since you came into the house you've quite changed."

"Merely because I've been reckoning things up, taking stock of the
amount of damage that's been done. It'll have to be paid for, I suppose.
Everything's paid for in the end, isn't it? When are you going to
England?"

"I didn't say it was absolutely decided."

"No; but it is. I want to know the date, so that I may pack up to
accompany you. It will be jolly to see Jimmy again. I shall run down to
Eton and take him out."

"I am not going to allow you to do me any harm. Because lately I've
given in to you sometimes, you mustn't think you can make a slave of
me."

"And you mustn't think you'll get rid of me in one way if you can't in
another. This English project is nothing but an attempt to give me the
slip. You thought I couldn't face England, so you chose England as the
place you would travel to. You've never had a letter from your lawyer,
and there's no reason why you should go to England on business. But I
can face England. I've never done anything _there_ that I'm ashamed of.
My record there is a clean one."

Suddenly he thrust his hand into his jacket and pulled out the letters
he had brought from the British Post Office.

"And apart from that, you made a mistake in reckoning on my
sensitiveness."

"Honestly, I don't know what you mean by that," she said, with frigid
calm.

"Yes, you do. You thought I wouldn't follow you to England because I
should shrink from facing my mother, perhaps, and my wife's r