“Married! To-morrow!” The words seemed to choke her. “Don’t you know who I am?”
Fear chilled his mounting blood as Kent’s analysis of the probabilities came back to him.
“If you are married already,” he said unsteadily, “it—it would be better for me that Kent had let him shoot.”
She sat at the window, bowered in roses.
“Who?” she cried. “What has been passing, here? You have been in danger?”
“What does it matter?” he returned. “What does anything matter but—”
“Hark!” she broke in, a spasm of terror contracting her face.
Footsteps sounded within. There was the noise of a door opening and closing. Around the turn of the wing Alexander Blair stepped into view. His pistol was still in his hand.
“Still here, sir?” he inquired with an effect of murderous courtesy. “You add spying to your other practises, then.” He took a step forward and saw the girl. “My God! Marjorie!” he cried.