"You're nothing of the sort!" burst out Carl Walraven. "You're free—free as air. It would be outrageous, it would be monstrous, to let such a marriage bind you. You are free to wed to-morrow if you choose; and let the villain come forward and dispute the marriage if he dare!"
"He speaks the truth," said Sir Roger, eagerly. "Such a marriage is no marriage. You are as free as you were before, Mollie."
"Perhaps so," said Mollie, calmly. "Nevertheless, I shall never marry."
"Never?"
It was Sir Roger's despairing voice.
"Never, Sir Roger. I never was worthy of you. I would be the basest of the base to marry you now. No; what I am to-night I will go to my grave."
She stole a glance at Hugh Ingelow, but the sphinx was never more unreadable than he. He caught her glance, however, and calmly spoke.
"And now, as Miss Mollie has had a fatiguing journey lately, and as she needs rest, we had better allow her to retire. Good-night."
He had bowed and reached the door ere the voice of Carl Walraven arrested him.
"This very unpleasant business, Mr. Ingelow—Sir Roger," he said, with evident embarrassment, "in which Mrs. Walraven is concerned—"