“And no bar sinister,” she said, glancing significantly at the coat-of-arms hanging above the mantel. Barnard winced, she had touched the vulnerable point in his family history; a history of which he was inordinately proud except for that single blemish. He threw out his hands imploringly.
“Think, my darling, before it is too late; can you afford to break with me?”
“I fail to understand you,” she retorted hotly. “Our so-called engagement was at an end days ago; I have repeatedly returned your ring....”
“I decline to accept your refusal,” with forced calmness, and his expression altered. “Marjorie, I have been mad! Forget all that I have said; remember only that I love you and you alone. Take back my ring, my darling.”
“No, never!” she shrank away as he offered it to her. “I will go!”
Barnard stepped instantly aside. “I implore your forgiveness,” he pleaded desperately. “I deserve all the harsh things you said of me, dear; but you have never truly loved”—Marjorie’s face changed, ever so slightly, and she avoided his gaze—“you have never loved,” he repeated stubbornly, “never known what it is to be tempted. Give me a chance to win back your good opinion; it is all that I ask—now.”
“It is useless;” Marjorie walked over to the door leading to the outer hall, and from that safe haven, turned and faced him. “I never wish to see you again,” she announced with passionate fervor, and opening the door, dashed into the hall.
Barnard started to follow her, then thinking better of it, returned to his seat on the sofa and gazed blankly about the room. It seemed strangely empty without Marjorie, and cursing his lack of self-control and temper which had frightened her away, he picked up a letter lying on the table which had escaped his earlier notice. It proved to be a curt note from Alvord and Alvord informing him that Rear Admiral Lawrence had brought suit to break his wife’s will. For a long time Barnard sat inarticulate with rage; two stumbling blocks were in his way to winning Marjorie for his wife; one, of his own making, and the other, a law contest. With settled determination to win both he picked up the evening paper and began to read it.
Once in the street Marjorie set out in the direction of Washington but she was so unutterably exhausted by all that she had gone through, that her footsteps lagged and her progress was slow. She was not very familiar with Georgetown, but had a general idea of the direction she should take, and keeping an outlook for a passing cab, she staggered rather than walked along, her heart filled with bitter and hopeless anguish. She had kept the faith and had been loyal to her benefactress, but when the guilt of others had been fastened upon her shoulders not one friend had believed in her innocence. She had still to face Madame Yvonett. She shivered involuntarily, paused, walked on, paused again, then turned and staggered off in the direction of the Potomac River.