"If you went, your father would disown you."
"I don't care."
"You would lose Beckleigh."
"I don't care."
"You would be cut off from your own race."
"I don't care."
"You are a fool," shouted Theodore, savagely. "I'll tell your father."
Mara wreathed her many-hued beads artistically round her neck and admired herself in the mirror over the fireplace. But she also had a glimpse of her cousin's face, and spoke from what she read written thereon. "No, you won't, Theodore," she observed, coolly, and meaningly; "you would be glad to see me run off with Count Akira and give up everything."
"Why should I be glad?" demanded Dane, taken aback by this shrewd reading of his most secret thoughts.
"Because, as you say, my father would have nothing to do with me, and you would inherit Beckleigh. I am safe in your hands."