“Is there no way we can prevent this thing?”

Mershone stalked up and down before her like a caged beast.  His eyes were red and wicked; his lips were pressed tightly together.  “Diana,” said he, “I’ve never wanted anything in this world as I want that girl.  I can’t let that mollycoddle marry her!”

She flushed, and then frowned.  It was not pleasant to hear the man of her choice spoken of with such contempt, but after all their disappointment and desires were alike mutual and she could not break with Charlie at this juncture.

Suddenly he paused and asked: 

“Do you still own that country home near East Orange?”

“Yes; but we never occupy it now.  Father does not care for the place.”

“Is it deserted?”

“Practically so.  Madame Cerise is there in charge.”

“Old Cerise?  I was going to ask you what had become of that clever female.”

“She was too clever, Charlie.  She knew too much of our affairs, and was always prying into things that did not concern her.  So father took an antipathy to the poor creature, and because she has served our family for so long sent her to care for the house at East Orange.”

“Pensioned her, eh?  Well, this is good news, Di; perhaps the best news in the world.  I believe it will help clear up the situation.  Old Cerise and I always understood each other.”

“Will you explain?” asked Diana, coldly.

“I think not, my fair cousin.  I prefer to keep my own counsel.  You made a bad mess of that little deal last night, and are responsible for the climax that faces us.  Besides, a woman is never a good conspirator.  I know what you want; and I know what I want.  So I’ll work this plan alone, if you please.  And I’ll win, Di; I’ll win as sure as fate—­if you’ll help me.”

“You ask me to help you and remain in the dark?”

“Yes; it’s better so.  Write me a note to Cerise and tell her to place the house and herself unreservedly at my disposal.”

She stared at him fixedly, and he returned the look with an evil smile.  So they sat in silence a moment.  Then slowly she arose and moved to her escritoire, drawing a sheet of paper toward her and beginning to write.  “Is there a telephone at the place?” enquired Mershone abruptly.

“Yes.”

“Then telephone Cerise after I’m gone.  That will make it doubly sure.  And give me the number, too, so I can jot it down.  I may need it.”

Diana quietly tore up the note.

“The telephone is better,” she said.  “Being in the dark, sir, I prefer not to commit myself in writing.”

“You’re quite right, Di,” he exclaimed, admiringly.  “But for heaven’s sake don’t forget to telephone Madame Cerise.”

“I won’t Charlie.  And, see here, keep your precious plans to yourself, now and always.  I intend to know nothing of what you do.”

“I’m merely the cats-paw, eh?  Well, never mind.  Is old Cerise to be depended upon, do you think?”