Southward, through the country lanes whose hedges were still wreathed with late honeysuckle, on to the great mainroad, Deane's car was driven through the night,—always southward, till the lights of the great city flared before them up into the sky. Deane himself, for hour after hour, had sat back in his corner, buried in thought. His companion was even more invisible, but as the end of the journey drew near he roused himself with an effort, turned on the electric light which hung down from the roof of the car, lit a cigarette, and, bending forward, looked into the half-hidden face of the girl who was reclining by his side.

"My dear fiancÉe," he said, "we are nearing London. Won't you rouse yourself and give me your further orders?"

She sat up, with a little yawn. "Let down the windows, please," she said. "We will have some fresh air in for a few minutes."

He obeyed her at once. The sweet midnight air through which they were rushing was like a douche of cold water upon her face.

"How far are we from London?" she asked.

"Less than twenty miles. Unless we are stopped, we shall certainly be there in half-an-hour."

"Why did you disturb me?" she asked.

"To know your wishes."

"You had better leave me at one of the small hotels in the west end," she said. "I daresay you can think of one at which you are known. In the morning, please come and see me and bring some money. I shall want to engage a companion and a maid, and to buy some clothes."

Deane looked at her curiously. Her manner was perfectly natural. "Anything else?" he asked calmly.

"I don't think so," she answered.

"You mentioned the fact, I believe," he continued, "that you were—that you had done me the honor—that you were, in fact, my fiancÉe."

"Well?" she murmured.

"Under those circumstances," he continued, "don't you think—"

His hand rested for a moment upon hers. She drew it at once away. "No, I think not!" she answered.

"I have not had much experience," he went on, "in being engaged, but it seemed to me that there were certain privileges which belonged to that state."

"You are perfectly well aware," she answered, "that ours is not an engagement of that sort. You know something about the world in which the men marry for position and the women for money, don't you? You can look upon our engagement as being of that order. I marry you because it is the only way I can make you pay your debt. I have given you notice from the first. I mean to gain everything I can, and to give nothing."

"Nothing?" he repeated.

"As little as possible," she answered. "As a matter of fact, you are singularly indifferent to me. You simply represent the things I desire, the things which are owing to me, the things which were owing to—to him. I marry you to acquire them. You marry me because you must."

"Well," he said, "ours promises to be a novel matrimonial experience."

"Not at all," she answered.

"You have been reading too many novels," he declared. "People really don't marry in this sort of way at all. There is always a pretence of sentiment about it. If not, for very shame's sake, they try to cultivate it."

"Then we," she answered, "will remain exceptions."

"Do you dislike me?" he asked.

"Personally I have not thought about you," she answered. "Apart from that, I hate you. You represent the victor, and all that I have loved upon this earth have been the vanquished. Willingly I would not give you so much as the touch of my fingers. If I thought that my presence was a pleasure to you, I would shrink back into myself. If I thought that any happiness could come to you from our association, even now I would throw myself from the car and end it."

"Our prospects of matrimonial bliss," he remarked, "appear to me to be distinctly above the average."

"I do not expect," she answered, "to find any pleasure that may come to me in later life, at your hands."

"I shall certainly not allow you to flirt."

"I know the law," she answered. "I know what I may do and what I may not do. I shall not transgress it. I want your money, I want your position, I want your power. These things I will share with you. For the rest, you cannot keep too far away to please me."

He leaned towards her, heedless of the fact that she was shrinking away. There was something a little pitiful in the blue-gray eyes which tried so hard to hold him at a distance. "Well," said he, "it will be an interesting experiment, at any rate. Personally, I think that you are a brave woman. I wonder that you did not take the money without me."

"What good would that have been to me?" she answered. "I have no name, no friends. Can't you imagine the sort of people who would have come hanging on to my skirts, if I had made my dÉbut on the scene as a widow or a spinster with a large fortune, unattached, looking for companions? No! I need your name, Mr. Stirling Deane."

"I am not at all sure," he answered grimly, "that you will find that much of an asset."

"You must see to it that I do find it an asset, and a valuable one," she answered. "You are relieved now from any fear of that deed being produced. There is no shadow of evidence to connect you with the man Sinclair, or with my brother's transaction with him. If your lawyers are clever and you are brave, you must win your case with honor, and Hefferom will be sent to prison. He deserves it, in any case."

Deane nodded. "I shall win my case all right," he said. "For me there never was any danger except in the production of that document, concerning which you have been so mysterious."

"It was mine," she answered. "I ran all the risk to get it. I ran risks the memory of which will haunt me all my days. I have lost Basil. All that I can do is to exact the utmost price that you can pay for that little paper."

"It isn't worth it, you know," said Deane. "I believe, even now, that I should win my case, anyhow."

She smiled—a curious little contraction of the corners of her lips. Her eyes mocked him. "Perhaps," she said, "but it is a different thing since Sinclair's murder. Its production to-day would ruin you inevitably, whether it were held a legal document or not."

"We all make mistakes," he said, looking out of the window.

"But too often others pay for them!" she murmured, turning away.

Presently he gave some instructions to the chauffeur. The pace of the car slackened as they reached the outskirts of London and turned westward.

"Well," he remarked, "the world is full of surprises for us. I little thought, when I came down to Rakney, that it was to find a bride!"

She shivered a little at his words, but made no reply.

"Forgive me," he said, "if I do not seem very coherent about it all. As a matter of fact, you see, I was not expecting to take up obligations of this sort again so quickly."

"If you do not mind," she said coldly, "we will not discuss it."

"I may at least be permitted to ask," he continued, "when it is your intention to—marry me?"

"In about two months' time," she answered.

"You would like our engagement announced?" he asked.

She hesitated for a few seconds. "In a fortnight's time," she declared.

"In the meantime," he inquired, "I shall have the pleasure of being received by you?"

"Certainly," she answered. "I shall expect to lunch and dine with you occasionally, to be taken to the theatres, and for short expeditions into the country—Ranelagh and Hurlingham, for instance."

"Delightful!"

The car stopped at one of the smallest and most famous of semi-private hotels, in the neighborhood of Bond Street. Deane assisted his companion to alight.

"If you will come in for a moment," he said, "I will arrange things for you here. They know me very well."

She followed him into the hotel and waited while he interviewed the manager. Then he took his leave of her, bowing over her reluctantly offered hand, and smiling into her face as though honestly anxious to penetrate behind its absolute imperturbability.

"I hope you will find the little suite comfortable," he said. "You must go to bed soon, and try and rest. They will do everything that is possible for you, I am sure, until you have your own maid and things. Good-night!"

She raised her eyes for a moment to his, but there was more indignation than gratitude in the glance she threw upon him. "I am very much obliged to you. Good-night!"

Deane drove back to his rooms. As yet he could scarcely realize the situation. Had anyone ever been confronted with a position so unique? The mystery of the girl's impenetrability was solved at last!