He spoke in a voice in which Lane's ears detected insincerity. "Be seated, and wait until I get my book," he continued, and left the room.
Hartley had hardly glanced at Mel, and her veil had hidden her features. He had gone toward his study rubbing his hands in a peculiar manner which Lane remembered and which recalled the man as he had looked many a time in the Bradford billiard room when a good joke was going the rounds. Lane saw him hurry from his study with pleasant words of invitation to his guests, a mysterious air about him, a light upon his face. The ladies and gentlemen rose from their tables and advanced from the library to the door of the drawing-room. A girl of striking figure seized Hartley's arm and gesticulated almost wildly. It was Helen Wrapp. Her husband laughed at her and waved a hand toward the drawing-room and his guests. Turning swiftly with tigerish grace, she bent upon Lane great green eyes whose strange expression he could not fathom. What passionately curious eyes did she now fasten on his prospective bride!
Lane gripped Mel's hand. He felt the horror of what might be coming. What a blunder he had made!
"Will the lady kindly remove her veil?" Hartley's voice sounded queer. His smile had vanished.
As Mel untied and thrust back the veil her fingers trembled. The action disclosed a lovely face as white as snow.
"Mel Iden!" burst from the magistrate. For a moment there was an intense silence. Then, "I'll not marry you," cried Hartley vindictively.
"Why not? You said you would," demanded Lane.
"Not to save your worthless lives," Hartley returned, facing them with a dark meaning in his eyes.
Lane turned to Mel and led her from the house and down to the curb without speaking once.
Once more they went out into the blinding snow-storm. Lane threw back his head and breathed the cold air. What a relief to get out of that stifling room!