She carefully laid her cigarette on the receiver, then arose and leaned against the table, her hands behind her.  He arose also, but she declined the courtesy.

“Keep your seat,” she said, “and don’t be alarmed, I’m not preparing to have you daggered or garroted.  Entirely the reverse, Guy.  I’ve decided to offer terms:  to capitulate; to throw the whole thing over; to betray my mission and get out of the service forever.  No, don’t smile incredulously, I mean it.”

“Good Lord!” thought Harleston.  “What is coming and where do we go?” What he said, however, was: 

“Wouldn’t you be incredulous if our positions were reversed?  Madeline Spencer, the very Queen of the Service, betray her trust?  Impossible!”

“Thank you, Guy,” said she.  “I’ve never yet been false to the hand that paid me—­and sometimes I’ve paid dearly for keeping faith.  Now for the first time,—­and the last time, too, for if successful the service will know me no longer—­I am ready and willing deliberately to make a failure of my mission, if you will take that failure as conclusive evidence of my good faith.”  She bent a bit forward and threw into her words and tones and attitude every grace that she possessed.  “Will you do it, Guy?”

“When you ask that way,” said Harleston, “who of mankind would refuse you anything on earth.”

She was alluring, wonderfully alluring.  Time was, and that lately, when he would have succumbed.  But that time was no longer; beside the raven-hair and dead-white cheek was now another face, with peach-blow cheek and the ruddy tresses—­and the peach-blow cheek and ruddy tresses prevailed.  And so he had responded, sincere enough, in tribute to her loveliness and in memory of what had been.

And Madeline Spencer detected the absent note; but she ignored it.  She would go through with it—­make her bid: 

“Almost you say that as though you meant it!” she smiled, and forced his hand.  Now he must either deny or affirm.

“I do mean it,” he replied.  It was all in the game, and he was obligated to be truthful only to Mrs. Clephane.

She looked at him contemplatively, trying to read behind his words.

“What is it, Madeline?” he asked.

“I wonder!” she said speculatively.

“Can’t I answer?”

“Yes, you can answer—­”

“Then ask me,” he invited, seeking to get something that would afford him an inkling of her aim.  Assuredly she had him guessing.

For a moment she looked him straight in the eyes; then suddenly her glance wavered, a faint flush crept from neck to cheek, and she smiled almost bashfully.

“Guy,” said she, “I ask you to forget our profession if you can, and take what I am about to say as free from guile or expediency—­and of supreme importance to me.  I’m just a simple woman now, with a woman’s desires and affection and hopes.  I’ve come to the parting of the ways:  on one side lie power, excitement, loneliness; on the other, contentment, peace, companionship.  I’ll choose the latter, if you’re willing.  You have but to say the word and I’ll give up everything, confess what I’m here for, what I’ve done, and what is arranged for in the future.”