Spenser Churchill looked at him with an air of gentle reproach.
“I cannot think how it is you haven’t seen that from the first, dear Jeffrey. You may be so lost to all sense of right as to conceal the fact of Lady Mary’s existence, but I—oh, my dear Jeffrey—I am a man of honor and must act as my conscience dictates. And how great a reward will be mine! To restore to a father the child he has mourned as dead! The dear marquis, I can picture his delight—” the smile grew sardonic for a moment—“his delight at recovering her, and his gratitude to you——”
Jeffrey drew nearer.
“You—you will do this?” he panted, almost inaudibly.
“Yes,” said Spenser Churchill; then with a rapid change of voice, and laying his hand on the quivering shoulder of the man he was torturing, he added, “unless you come to my terms, my dear Jeffrey.”
“Your terms?” echoed Jeffrey, his face working, his hands clasping and unclasping each other.
Spenser Churchill nodded blandly.
“Y—es. I take an interest in this charming young lady; I knew her mother, you see——”
“Beware!” broke from Jeffrey’s parched lips. “Don’t—don’t try me too hard!”
“And I should like to have a hand in restoring her to her proper place, or permitting her to remain under your care.”