"Why discuss what could never have been considered?" was the brusk
answer.

Lord Ronsdale frowned. "We are still fencing; we will waste no more
time." Perhaps the other's manner, assured, contemptuously distant,
goaded him; perhaps he experienced anew all that first violent,
unreasoning anger against this man whose unexpected coming to London had
plunged him into an unwelcome and irritating role. "That alternative is
still open. Refuse, and--you will be in the hands of the authorities
to-night. Resist--" His glittering eyes left no doubt whatever as to his
meaning.

"I shall not resist," said John Steele. "But--I refuse." He spoke
recklessly, regardlessly.

"In that case--" Lord Ronsdale half rose; his face looked drawn but
determined; he reached as if to touch a bell. "You force the issue,
and--"

"One moment." As he spoke John Steele stepped toward the fireplace; he
gazed downward at a tiny white ash on the glowing coals; a little film
that might have been--paper? "In a matter so important we may consider a
little longer, lest," still regarding the hearth, "there may be
after-regrets." His words even to himself sounded puerile; but what they
led to had more poignancy; he lifted now his keen glowing eyes. "In one
little regard I did your lordship an injustice."

"In what way?" The nobleman had been studying him closely, had followed
the direction of his glance; noted almost questioningly what it had