“That is it,” he said, with a nod.  “I shall ruin him!”

“Is there no escape?” she asked in a low voice.

“None,” he replied, grimly.  “I tell you that nothing can save him.”

“Excepting one thing,” she said in so low a voice that it sounded as if she were speaking to herself.

“Eh?” he said, as if he had not caught the words.  “What is it you mean:  what can save him, what is this one thing?”

His heavy brows came done, and he frowned at her.

She raised her eyes, cold and glittering like steel, and met his frown unflinchingly.

“The marriage of his son Stafford with your daughter,” she said, slowly, calmly.

CHAPTER XX.

Mr. Falconer started and stared at her, his heavy face growing a dust-red, his eyes distended with amazement and anger.

“Are you out of your mind?” he said at last, and frowning at her in a kind of perplexity. “’Pon my soul, Maude, I’m never quite certain whether you are in jest or earnest!  If this is intended for a joke, permit me to tell you I consider it in vilely bad taste.”

“I am not jesting,” she said, very quietly, her chin in her hand, her blue eyes fixed on his unblushingly.  “I am in the most sober, the most serious earnest, I assure you.”

He rose, then sank into the chair again, and sighed impatiently.

“Do you mean to say that you—­that he—­Confound it If ever there was a man to be pitied, it is the one who has the honour to be your father, Maude.”

“Why?” she asked, calmly.  “Have I not been a dutiful daughter?  Have I ever given you any trouble, deceived you?  Am I not perfectly frank with you at this moment?” He rose and paced to the mantel-shelf, and leaning against it, looked down upon her, the frown still on his heavy face, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets.

“You’ve always been a puzzle to me,” he said, more to himself than to her.  “Ever since you were born I’ve felt uncertain about you—­you’re like your mother.  But never mind that.  What game is this you’re carrying on?”

“One in which I mean to win,” she replied, slowly, meditatively.  “Have you not seen—­How slow to perceive, even you, a reputedly clever man, can be!  I don’t suppose there is a woman in the house who has not detected the fact that I am in love with Stafford Orme, though I have tried to hide it from them—­and you will admit that I am not a bad actress.”

“In love with Stafford Orme!” His face darkened.  “No, I did not know it.  Why—–­what the devil does he mean by not coming to me!” he broke out angrily, harshly.

She smiled.

“He hasn’t come to ask you for me, because—­well, he doesn’t want me,” she said in a low voice.

“What!” he exclaimed below his breath.  “Do you mean to tell me that—­that—­Why, you can’t have the shamelessness to care for the man without—­until—­”