"It was mine," she answered. "I ran all the risk to get it. I ran risks the memory of which will haunt me all my days. I have lost Basil. All that I can do is to exact the utmost price that you can pay for that little paper."
"It isn't worth it, you know," said Deane. "I believe, even now, that I should win my case, anyhow."
She smiled—a curious little contraction of the corners of her lips. Her eyes mocked him. "Perhaps," she said, "but it is a different thing since Sinclair's murder. Its production to-day would ruin you inevitably, whether it were held a legal document or not."
"We all make mistakes," he said, looking out of the window.
"But too often others pay for them!" she murmured, turning away.
Presently he gave some instructions to the chauffeur. The pace of the car slackened as they reached the outskirts of London and turned westward.
"Well," he remarked, "the world is full of surprises for us. I little thought, when I came down to Rakney, that it was to find a bride!"
She shivered a little at his words, but made no reply.
"Forgive me," he said, "if I do not seem very coherent about it all. As a matter of fact, you see, I was not expecting to take up obligations of this sort again so quickly."
"If you do not mind," she said coldly, "we will not discuss it."