week royalty, eh? Well, that's good enough. I'll marry you, Philip--do
you hear?--at once. That'll save your skin if it won't get me back my
twenty thousand pounds. You needn't flatter yourself overmuch, either.
I'd rather have had Douglas. He's more of a man than you, after all. You
are too self-conscious. You think about yourself too much. You're too
intellectual, too. I don't want those things. I want to live! Any way,
you've got to marry me--to-day. Now give me some money, do you hear?"

He took out his pocketbook and threw it towards her. She smoothed out the
wad of notes which it contained and counted them with glistening eyes.

"Well, there's enough here for a start," she decided, slipping them into
her bosom. "No one shall rob me of these before I get to the shops.
Better come with me, Philip. I'm not going to leave you alone with her."

Elizabeth would have intervened, but Philip laid his hand upon her arm.

"Beatrice," he said sternly, "you are a little beside yourself. Listen. I
don't understand what has happened. I must think about it. Apparently
that twenty thousand pounds has gone, but so far as regards money I
recognise your claim. You shall have half my earnings. I'll write more.
I'll make it up somehow. But for the rest, this morning has cleared
away many misunderstandings. Let this be the last word. Miss Dalstan has
promised to be my wife. She is the only woman I could ever love."

"Then you'll have to marry me without loving me," Beatrice declared
thickly. "I won't be left alone in this beastly city! I want some one to
take care of me. I am getting frightened. It's uncanny--horrible! I--oh!
I am so miserable--so miserable!"