“Certainly,” she said indifferently; “pray go on.”  At the moment of attack, however, Barker’s heart failed him for an instant.  He thought he would make one more attempt to ascertain what position Claudius held towards Margaret.

“Of course,” he said, smiling and looking down, “we all knew about Dr. Claudius on board the Streak.”

“What did you know about him?” asked Margaret calmly, but her face flushed for an instant.  That might have happened even if she had not cared for Claudius; she was so proud that the idea of being thought to care might well bring the colour to her cheek.  Barker hardly noticed the blush, for he was getting into very deep water, and was on the point of losing his head.

“That he proposed to you, and you refused him,” he said, still smiling.

“Take care, sir,” she said quickly, “when Dr. Claudius comes back he—­” Barker interrupted her with a laugh.

“Claudius coming back?” he answered, “ha! ha! good indeed!”

He looked at Margaret.  She was very quiet, and she was naturally so dark that, in the shadow of the fan she held carelessly against the light, he could not see how pale she turned.  She was intensely angry, and her anger took the form of a preternatural calm of manner, by no means indicative of indifferent reflection.  She was simply unable to speak for the moment.  Barker, however, whose reason was in abeyance for the moment, merely saw that she did not answer; and, taking her silence for consent to his slighting mention of Claudius, he at once proceeded with his main proposition.  At this juncture the other couple slowly left the room, having arranged their own affairs to their satisfaction.

“That being the case,” he said, “and now that I am assured that I have no rivals to dread, will you permit me to offer you my heart and my hand?  Countess Margaret, will you marry me, and make me the happiest of men?  Oh, do not be silent, do not look as if you did not hear!  I have loved you since I first saw you—­will you, will you marry me?” Here Mr. Barker, who was really as much in love as his nature allowed him to be, moved to the very edge of his chair and tried to take her hand.

“Margaret!” he said, as he touched her fingers.

At the touch she recovered her self-possession, too long lost for such a case.  She had tried to control her anger, had tried to remember whether by any word she could have encouraged him to so much boldness.  Now she rose to all her haughty height, and though she tried hard to control herself, there was scorn in her voice.

“Mr. Barker,” she said, dropping her hands before her and standing straight as a statue, “you have made a mistake, and if through any carelessness I have led you into this error I am sorry for it.  I cannot listen to you, I cannot marry you.  As for Dr. Claudius, I will not permit you to use any slighting words about him.  I hold in my possession documents that could prove his identity as well as any he can obtain in Germany.  But I need not produce them, for I am sure it will be enough for you to know that I am engaged to be married to him—­I am engaged to be married to Dr. Claudius,” she repeated very distinctly in her deep musical tones; and before Barker could recover himself, she had passed from the room into the lights and the sound of music beyond.