“I hope, Uncle Francis, your guests will excuse me,” she said, with an imperial, aloof politeness, “but I am very tired.  I will wish you all a good-night.”  She bowed to them as they expressed their regrets, and then slowly left the room.

“Goodnight, madame,” Lord Tancred said, at the door.  “Some day you and I will cross swords.”

But he was rewarded by no word, only an annihilating glance from her sullen eyes, and he stood there and gazed at her as she passed up the stairs.

“An extraordinary and beautiful woman—­your niece—­eh, my dear Markrute?” he heard one of the pompous gentlemen say, as he returned to the group by the fire, and it angered him—­he could not have told why.

Francis Markrute, who knew his moments, began now to talk about her, casually; how she was an interesting, mysterious character; beautiful? well, no, not exactly that—­a superlative skin, fine eyes and hair, but no special features.

“I will not admit that she is beautiful, my friend,” he said.  “Beauty suggests gentleness and tenderness.  My niece reminds me of the black panther in the Zoo, but one could not say—­if she were tamed.”

Such remarks were not calculated to allay the growing interest and attraction Lord Tancred was feeling.  Francis Markrute knew his audience; he never wasted his words.  He abruptly turned the conversation back to Canada again, until even the two magnates on their own ground were bored and said goodnight.  The four men came downstairs together.  As the two others were being assisted into their coats by Turner and his satellites the host said to Lord Tancred: 

“Will you have a cigar with me, Tancred, before you go on to your supper party?” And presently they were both seated in mammoth armchairs in the cozy library.

“I hope, my dear boy, you have all the information you want about Canada,” Mr. Markrute said.  “You could not find two more influential people than Sir Philip and the Colonel.  I asked—­” but Lord Tancred interrupted him.

“I don’t care a farthing more about Canada!” he flashed out.  “I have made up my mind.  If you really meant what you said to-day, I will marry your niece, and I don’t care whether she has a penny or no.”

The financier’s plans had indeed culminated with a rush!

But he expressed no surprise, merely raised his eyebrows mildly and puffed some blue rings of smoke, as he answered: 

“I always mean what I say, only I do not care for people to do things blindly.  Now that you have seen my niece are you sure she would suit you?  I thought, after all, perhaps not, to-night:  she is certainly a difficult person.  It would be no easy task for any man to control her—­as a wife.”

[Illustration:  “The whole expression of her face changed as he came and leaned upon the piano.”]

“I don’t care for tame women,” Lord Tancred said.  “It is that very quality of difficulty which has inspired me.  By George! did you ever see such a haughty bearing?  It will take a man’s whole intelligence to know which bit to use.”