"Gad, what an obstinate little vixen it is!" he said between his teeth. "What does this fellow Rupert Dale matter to you?"
She forced herself to smile at him. "Perhaps I'm thinking of myself. I told you I've been in hell these two years. My conscience has given me no peace. I can't rest, be happy, until I have at least given his father proof of his innocence. It would be no use coming away with you; I couldn't love you or make you happy."
A moment Despard hesitated. He felt with the fascination a return of the desire he had always known for Ruby Strode. She was worth winning—worth purchasing.
"You want me to make a declaration that will clear Rupert's name, should he ever return to England?"
"Yes. Write down what you said to me just now. It must be witnessed and sent to Mr. John Dale."
Despard sat down at his table and picked up a pen. Rupert was never likely to show his face in England again, he was sure of that. But there was a risk. It was greater for Ruby than for himself. He glanced at her over his shoulder. He wanted her now—but in six months' time he might tire of her.
Dipping his pen into the ink, he commenced to write. Ruby stood beside him and watched him. When he had finished he signed his name with a flourish and handed it to her.
"Will that do?"
She read it carefully. "Yes, that's perfectly clear," she said, and there was a trace of surprise in her voice. "It must be witnessed."
He rose and stood by her side. "To-morrow morning. I'll get the hall-porter or some one. By the way, we'll have to catch the ten o'clock boat train. It's no use your going back to your flat. It's nearly midnight; you must stop here, dear."