"I feel I have met you for the first time to-day."
"Now listen, Melisande."
"I wish to listen no more."
"You must listen to me. You are going to marry me."
"You are wrong. I am not going to marry you."
"You change your mind quickly."
"You have changed it for me."
"Melisande, I understand how you feel. That man hurt your feelings. You have been disillusioned, I know. I understand. But I love you. I want to take you away from that impossible woman, but for God's sake let us be reasonable. I'm in low water. A little money could put me right. Your father is wealthy. A thousand or so would mean nothing to him. He ought to give you an income. He owes it to you. Why shouldn't he, and why shouldn't we accept it?"
"Goodbye," she said firmly.
Now he was angry. "You are a fool, Melisande. An adorable fool, it's true, but nevertheless a fool. You have such crazy notions. He will be glad . . . glad to do this."
"He will not be glad, and there shall be no question of his doing it. He shall never hear of it."
"My dear girl, don't you understand, he'll be relieved to hear of you. He's wondering what's happened to you."
"I despise you," she cried. "I see right through you. 'You don't trust me!' you said. 'Tell me his name.' And now, because I have been a fool, you know it... and you are threatening me ... and him."
"I? Threatening! My dear, you're becoming hysterical."
"I hate you. I hate all men. You are all evil . . . every one of you. I wish I had stayed in the Convent. I wish I had never met any of you."
"My dear, you are attracting attention. I beg of you, speak more quietly. Now . . . you are not looking at this clearly."
She allowed him to lead her to a seat and she sat down.
"I am looking at it clearly."
"But he owes it to you. He would, I am sure, be pleased to help you."
"I will not ask him for money."
"Think of our future, Melisande."
"You and I have no future together."
"You don't mean that. I love you and you love me. Now, listen. Meet me here in the Park to-morrow ... at this time ... at this spot. I am sure when you are calmer, when you have thought this out, you will see my point."
"I never shall. And I never want to see you again."
"Melisande, I beg of you, be reasonable."
"I am being reasonable, and my reason tells me to despise you."
"But you and I are to marry. We are not rich and I have been foolish. You have a rich father ..."
"You will have to settle your affairs without my rich father."
"Now, Melisande, please ..."
"I shall never allow you to ask him for money."
There was a short silence, then he said slowly: "I could ask without your consent, you know."
She turned to look at him in astonishment. "You think he would give my dowry to a man whom I had decided not to marry!"
"No. But he might give the equivalent of the dowry to a man who knows that he has an illegitimate daughter."
She had turned pale. She stood up. She wanted to move away quickly, but her trembling legs would not allow her to do so.
"You . . . would never do that!"
"Of course, Melisande, of course I would not." He stood up beside her and gripped her arm.
"But . . . that is blackmail^
She wanted to throw him off, to run away, never to see his face again. But he was holding her fast.
She thought of Sir Charles at Trevenning receiving a threatening letter and thinking that she had had a hand in it. And she had! She had been foolish to trust this man with her father's name.
She was bewildered and frightened. She was as terrified of Thorold Randall as she was of Archibald Lavender. Here was another of those monsters to disturb her dreams.
Be calm! she admonished herself. This man is dangerous. He is worse than the hypocrite Andrew Beddoes was; he is more than the philanderer that Archibald Lavender is; he is a blackmailer as well. All men are liars; all men are cheats. Oh God, what have I done?
Thorold was now speaking in the gentle voice she knew so well.
"So you see, my darling, you are wrong to put ugly words to this. It is reasonable. It is natural. All fathers give their daughters dowries if they have the money. And think how useful yours will be to us! You meet me to-morrow and I will have the letter ready then. I will show it to you and you will copy it. Then we will send it. You shall sign it with loving assurances. And then . . . you will see how friendly he will be, how ready to help."
She did not answer him.
He went on to talk of their future, of the little house they would have, of how happy she would be when he had rescued her from servitude with the Lavenders.
He left her at the door of the house.
"Goodbye, my love, until to-morrow. Do not forget . . . the same place in the Park. Our seat, eh? And do not worry. I understand what a forthright soul you are. I know you did not mean all the hard things you said. I understand you . . . andyou understand now, don't you? Don't you, my love?"
"I understand," said Melisande.
What shall I do now? she asked herself. What can I do? Whose advice could she ask ? There was Mrs. Chubb. Now how could simple Mrs. Chubb deal with a situation like this? The Gunters? Sarah? How could they help ?
There was no one to whom she could go. She must act by herself. Between now and to-morrow she must find some means of preventing Thorold Randall from getting into touch with her father.
Perhaps she could appeal again to his sense of decency ? But had he any sense of decency ? She did not think so. She could hear the words he had spoken this afternoon; she could not forget them. Perhaps she could reply to his threats with threats of her own. How? What? There had been threats this afternoon, and there was one
thing which stood out among all others: If she would not write to her father, he would. That would be blackmail. . . simple blackmail. She would not endure it. She must think of a way.
Thoughts chased each other round and round in her head. She was subdued before the Gunters and Sarah. She did not want them to ask questions. She would have to take meals with them in the basement room as they had arranged, while the Lavenders were away. She was wondering whether she could go to Cornwall, see Sir Charles, explain to him what had happened, and beg him to advise her.
Perhaps she would do that if she could not make Thorold see reason to-morrow afternoon.
But to-morrow she would reason with him. There would still be time. He would do nothing until after their meeting. That thought made her feel calmer. There was a short breathing space.
After supper, eaten in the basement room where her lack of appetite gave rise to the Gunters' concern, she went up to Mrs. Lavender's room to make the black velvet flower. She was glad she had something definite to do. She tried to give all her attention to the black velvet petals. It was growing dark, so she lighted the lamp and drew the curtains.
While she was intent on her* work the door opened suddenly.
Without looking up, she said: "Oh, Sarah, I lighted the lamp. It was so dark I could scarcely see."
"It is getting dark," said Mr. Lavender.
She stood up in alarm. He was standing by the door, his hat and cane in his hand, and he was smiling at her.
"You look starded, my dear," he said; and he laid the hat and cane on the tab*-.