“Joan, I’ve come to tell you I am sorry, sorry and ashamed,” he said.  “I was mad.  I want you to forgive me.”

“There need be no talk of forgiveness,” she said.  “You are the type of man one can perhaps forget—­never forgive!”

He winced a little, and his face changed to a dusky red.

“I said more than I meant to say.  But what I said, after all, was right enough.  I know more about you than I think you guess.  I know about that fellow, that—­what’s his name?—­Alston—­who came.  I know why he came.”

“You are a friend of his, perhaps?  I am not surprised.”

“I never saw him before in my life, but I know all about him—­and you—­all the same.  He was willing to act fairly to you after all, and—­”

“What is this to do with you?” she asked.

“A lot!” he said thickly.  “A lot!  Look here!” He took another step towards her.  “Last night I behaved like a mad fool.  I—­I said more than I meant to say.  I—­I saw you, and I thought of that fellow—­and—­and you, and it drove me mad!”

“Why?” She was looking at him with calm eyes of contempt, the same look that she had given to Hugh Alston at their last meeting.

“Why—­why?” he said.  “Why?” He clenched his hands.  “You know why, you know I love you!  I want you!  I’ll marry you!  I’ll dig a hole and bury the past in it—­curse the past!  I’ll say nothing more, Joan.  I swear before Heaven I’ll never try and dig up the past again.  I forgive everything!”

“You—­you forgive everything?” Her eyes blazed.  “What have you to forgive?  What right have you to tell me that you forgive—­me?”

“I can’t let you go, I can’t!  Joan, I tell you I’ll never throw the past in your face.  I’ll forget Alston and—­”

The door behind the girl opened, the maid appeared.

“Miss,” she said, “there’s a car waiting down below.  The man says he is from General Bartholomew, and he has come for you.”

“Thank you.  I am coming now.  My luggage is ready, Annie.  Can you get someone to carry it down?”

Joan moved to the door.  She looked back at Slotman.  “I hope,” she said quietly, “that we shall never meet again, Mr. Slotman, and I wish you good morning!” And then she was gone.

Slotman walked to the window.  He looked down and saw a car, by no means a cheap car, and he knew the value of things, none better.  He waited, unauthorised visitor as he now was, and saw the girl come out, saw the liveried chauffeur touch his cap to her and hold the door for her, saw her enter.  Presently he saw luggage brought down and placed on the roof of the limousine, and then the car drove away.

Slotman rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, I’ll be hanged!  And who the dickens is General Bartholomew?  And why should she go to him, luggage and all?  Is it anything to do with that fellow Alston?  Has she accepted his offer after all?” He shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so.”