anything else.  No one perfectly pleases me, not even you:  you are too studious of character, and, like myself, exacting of perfection in one or two points.  But now hear what I have done, and approve it if you think fit.  I have flirted—­abominable word!—­I am compelled to use the language of the Misses—­yes, I have flirted with my cousin Algy.  I do it too well, I know—­by nature! and I hate it.  He has this morning sent a letter down to the farm saying, that, as he believes he has failed in securing Rhoda’s affections, he renounces all pretensions, etc., subject to her wishes, etc.  The courting, I imagine, can scarcely have been pleasant to him.  My delightful manner with him during the last fortnight has been infinitely pleasanter.  So, your friend Robert may be made happy by-and-by; that is to say, if his Rhoda is not too like her sex.”

“You’re an enchantress,” exclaimed Percy.

“Stop,” said she, and drifted into seriousness.  “Before you praise me you must know more.  Percy, that duel in India—­”

He put out his hand to her.

“Yes, I forgive,” she resumed.  “You were cruel then.  Remember that, and try to be just now.  The poor boy would go to his doom.  I could have arrested it.  I partly caused it.  I thought the honour of the army at stake.  I was to blame on that day, and I am to blame again, but I feel that I am almost excuseable, if you are not too harsh a judge.  No, I am not; I am execrable; but forgive me.”

Percy’s face lighted up in horrified amazement as Margaret Lovell unfastened the brooch at her neck and took out the dull-red handkerchief.

“It was the bond between us,” she pursued, “that I was to return this to you when I no longer remained my own mistress.  Count me a miserably heartless woman.  I do my best.  You brought this handkerchief to me dipped in the blood of the poor boy who was slain.  I have worn it.  It was a safeguard.  Did you mean it to serve as such?  Oh, Percy!  I felt continually that blood was on my bosom.  I felt it fighting with me.  It has saved me from much.  And now I return it to you.”

He could barely articulate “Why?”

“Dear friend, by the reading of the bond you should know.  I asked you when I was leaving India, how long I was to keep it by me.  You said, ‘Till you marry.’  Do not be vehement, Percy.  This is a thing that could not have been averted.”

“Is it possible,” Percy cried, “that you carried the play out so far as to promise him to marry him?”

“Your forehead is thunder, Percy.  I know that look.”

“Margaret, I think I could bear to see our army suffer another defeat rather than you should be contemptible.”

“Your chastisement is not given in half measures, Percy.”

“Speak on,” said he; “there is more to come.  You are engaged to marry him?”

“I engaged that I would take the name of Blancove.”

“If he would cease to persecute Rhoda Fleming!”