hated you, if I had thought you cold and hard to all the world, I would
not be here. I have come to plead to you because you are generous and
honest, true and good. I could not have come otherwise."

"What must I do, little Ellice?"

"Tell him the truth, if there is--"

"There is--yet that could never come to anything."

"Why not?"

"Because--ah, you can't understand."

"Still, your heart is not your own; you could never give it to Johnny
Everard."

"And I must tell him so, and then--"

"And then you will ask him if he would be content to live all his life
without love, knowing that he will never, never win your heart, because
it would be impossible."

"But I have given him my promise, Ellice."

"I know, I know; and you will not break it, because you could not break
a promise. But you will tell him this, and offer him his freedom; it
will be for him to decide."

Joan stood for many moments in silence, her hand still resting on the
girl's shoulder. Then she drew Ellice to her; she thrust back the
shining hair, and kissed the girl's forehead. "I think--yes, I think I
shall do all this, Ellice," she said.

CHAPTER XLIV

POISON

"Johnny! Johnny! Have you gone to sleep, dear? There is someone here to
see you."

"Eh?" Johnny started into wakefulness, he huddled his untidy papers
together. "I must have been dozing off. I was thinking. Con, is Gipsy
back yet?"

"Not yet, and I am getting a little anxious about her; it is almost
dusk. But there is someone here asking for you."

"Who?"

"A man, a--a--gentleman, I suppose. He looks as if he has been drinking,
though."

"A nice sort of visitor for a Sunday evening. What is his name, Con?"

"Slotman."

"Don't know it. I suppose I'd better see him. Wait, I'll light the lamp.
If Ellice isn't back soon I shall go and hunt for her. Do you know which
direction she went in?"

"I--I think--" Connie hesitated; she was never any good at concealment.
"I think she went towards Starden."

"Then when we've got rid of this fellow I'll get out the car and go and
find her. Show him in, Con."

Mr. Philip Slotman, looking shaken, bearing on his face several patches
of court plaster, which were visible, and in his breast a black fury
that was invisible, came in.

"Mr. Slotman?"

"Yes, you are Mr. Everard?"

Johnny nodded pleasantly. "If it is business, Sunday evening is hardly
the time--"

"It is personal and private business, Mr. Everard."

The man