“Not yet, dearest.  Under other circumstances no time could be too soon, but now—­” He raised his hands in a gesture of weariness and sat looking at her with a hunger of the heart.

“Now what?” she prompted.

“Now I am pledged to a life-and-death duel with your brother.  Now I must fight not only my fight, but that of many others.  It is foolish to treat lightly the threats of Hamilton Burton.  His power is incalculable and his implacability is absolute.  I can’t tear away every family tie that is rooted in your life merely to make you my comrade in ruin.  That is not my idea of loving, dearest.”

“And if not that—­what?” Her chin was raised and her lips parted.  Her voice was very soft, almost faint.  Never, Edwardes thought, had she been so beautiful.  “I have left my brother’s house to go with you.  I shall not return.  Am I, then, to find myself like a beggar woman, with no place to go except the streets of New York?”

With a gasping exclamation of pain in his throat he bent forward and seized her in his arms.  The car was now in the park and between the light globes were spaces of darkness.

“For God’s sake,” he cried, “don’t.  It is because I love you so!”

“I think, Jefferson,” she answered as he held her close with his kisses on her cheeks, “you need me as much as I need you.”

“Need you!  Because I need you so much, I can’t let you do this now.”

“You spoke just now,” she said, “as though you had no hope of victory in this warfare.  If that is true you need me to help you fight.  I have no intention of tame submission.  You must have a Burton to fight this Burton.”

“If I spoke so,” he declared, and his voice was far from submissive, “it was because any chance of ruin is too great a chance to subject you to.  It is because I mean to defend myself and my clients and my honor to the last breath that I say I can’t marry you now.  Certainly not until you have gravely considered these new occurrences.  I shall take small pleasure in his overthrow, if I overthrow him, because he is your brother.”

“I think,” her eyes flashed into a fierce animosity, “I shall glory in it.  I know that I shall not go back to his support.  I offer myself to you.  I cannot compel you.”

For a long while they talked, she resolved to fight his fight with him or take off his ring; and he, in a torture of soul, refusing so great a gift at so ruinous a cost to herself.  At last it was arranged that she should go to her mother’s until she had made up her mind, and that they should both accept an invitation for a week at the hunting-lodge of friends in the Adirondacks.  There, except for their host and hostess, they would be alone and Edwardes might have a breathing space before his battle.

There they tramped together on snowshoes over white-mantled hills and forgot that any shadow threatened their happiness.  They drank deep of air that was spicy with the fragrance of pines and because to them the present seemed so perfect they refused to borrow fears from the future.