“Take me away, quick!  I want to go home.”

“You’ve changed your mind?"’

“Yes, let us go,” she panted, and when they were outside she walked so rapidly that he had difficulty in keeping pace with her.  She was silent, and he knew better than to question, but when they arrived at her house he entered, took off his overcoat, and turned up the light in the tiny parlor.  She flung her wraps over a chair, storming back and forth like a little fury.  Her eyes were starry with tears of anger, her face was flushed, her hands worked nervously.  He leaned against the mantel, watching her through his cigar smoke.

“You needn’t tell me,” he said, at length.  “I know all about it.”

“I am glad you do.  I never could repeat what they said.  Oh, it was brutal!” Her voice caught and she bit her lip.  “What made me ask them?  Why didn’t I keep still?  After you left, I went to those women and faced them.  Oh, but they were brutal?  Yet, why should I care?” She stamped her slippered foot.

“I shall have to kill that man some day,” he said, flecking his cigar ashes into the grate.

“What man?” She stood still and looked at him.

“Glenister, of course.  If I had thought the story would ever reach you, I’d have shut him up long ago.”

“It didn’t come from him,” she cried, hot with indignation.  “He’s a gentleman.  It’s that cat, Mrs. Champian.”

He shrugged his shoulders the slightest bit, but it was eloquent, and she noted it.  “Oh, I don’t mean that he did it intentionally—­ he’s too decent a chap for that—­but anybody’s tongue will wag to a beautiful girl!  My lady Malotte is a jealous trick.”

“Malotte!  Who is she?” Helen questioned, curiously.

He seemed surprised.  “I thought every one knew who she is.  It’s just as well that you don’t.”

“I am sure Mr. Glenister would not talk of me.”  There was a pause.  “Who is Miss Malotte?”

He studied for a moment, while she watched him.  What a splendid figure he made in his evening clothes!  The cosey room with its shaded lights enhanced his size and strength and rugged outlines.  In his eyes was that admiration which women live for.  He lifted his bold, handsome face and met her gaze.

“I had rather leave that for you to find out, for I’m not much at scandal.  I have something more important to tell you.  It’s the most important thing I have ever said to you, Helen.”  It was the first time he had used that name, and she began to tremble, while her eyes sought the door in a panic.  She had expected this moment, and yet was not ready.

“Not to-night—­don’t say it now,” she managed to articulate.

“Yes, this is a good time.  If you can’t answer, I’ll come back to-morrow.  I want you to be my wife.  I want to give you everything the world offers, and I want to make you happy, girl.  There’ll be no gossip hereafter—­I’ll shield you from everything unpleasant, and if there is anything you want in life, I’ll lay it at your feet.  I can do it.”  He lifted his massive arms, and in the set of his strong, square face was the promise that she should have whatever she craved if mortal man could give it to her—­love, protection, position, adoration.