re was a glorious flush in her cheeks; and
in her eyes, a kind of fear. So he let her go, and opened the door for
her and stood listening to the soft swish of her draperies as she sped
up the dark stairs.

Then very slowly Johnny Everard came back to his chair. He picked up his
pipe and stared at it, yet did not see it. He saw a pair of eyes that
seemed to burn into his, eyes that had betrayed to him at last the
secret of her heart.

"I didn't know--I didn't know," Johnny Everard said brokenly. "I didn't
know, and oh, my God! I am not worthy of that! I am not worthy of
that!"

CHAPTER XXXIX

"THE PAYING"

Once again Mr. Philip Slotman was tainting the fragrant sweetness and
freshness of the night with the aroma of a large and expensive J.S.
Muria.

Once again the big shabby old car stood waiting in the shadows, a
quarter of a mile down the road, while he who hired it leaned against
the gate under the shadow of the partly ruined barn.

He had not the smallest doubt but that she would come. It was full early
yet; but she would come, though, being a woman, she would in all
probability be late.

And she would pay, she dared not refuse him. Yet he needed more than the
money, he thought, as he leaned at his ease against the gate and smoked
his cigar.

And now she was coming. He flung the half-smoked cigar away and waited
as the dark figure approached him in the night.

"You are early to-night, Joan." He endeavoured to put softness and
tenderness into his voice.

"I am here at the time I appointed."

"To give me my answer--yes, but we won't discuss that now. I want to
speak to you about something else."

"Something other than money?"

"Yes, do you think I always put money first?"

"I had thought so, Mr. Slotman."

"You do me a wrong--a great wrong. There is something that I put far
ahead of money, of gold. It is you--Joan, listen! you must listen!" He
had gripped her arm and held tightly, and as before she did not struggle
nor try to win free of him.

"You shall listen to me. I have told you before many times that I love
you."

He tried to drag her closer to him. And now she wrenched herself free.

"I came to discuss money with you, not--not impossibilities."

"So--so that is it, is it? I am impossible, am I?"

"To me--utterly. I have only one feeling for you, the deepest scorn. I
don't hate you, because you are too mean, too paltry, too low a thing to
hate. I have only contempt for you."