hy, I
thought you wanted me to burn it! Last time I saw you--"

"I was in a temper," said Margaret, haughtily. "You ought to have seen
that."

"Yes, I--er--noticed it," Mr. Woods admitted, with some dryness; "but
it wasn't only temper. You've grown accustomed to the money. You'd
miss it now--miss the pleasure it gives you, miss the power it gives
you. You'd never be content to go back to the old life now. Why,
Peggy, you yourself told me you thought money the greatest thing in
the world! It has changed you, Peggy, this--ah, well!" said Billy, "we
won't talk about that. I'm going to burn it because that's the only
honourable thing to do. Ready, Peggy?"

"It may be honourable, but it's _extremely_ silly," Margaret
temporised, "and for my part, I'm very, very glad God had run out of a
sense of honour when He created the woman."

"Phrases don't alter matters. Ready, Peggy?"

"Ah, no, phrases don't alter matters!" she assented, with a quick lift
of speech. "You're going to destroy that will, Billy Woods, simply
because you think I'm a horrid, mercenary, selfish _pig_. You think I
couldn't give up the money--you think I couldn't be happy without it.
Well, you have every right to think so, after the way I've behaved.
But why not tell me that is the real reason?"

Billy raised his hand in protest. "I--I think you might miss it," he
conceded. "Yes, I think you would miss it."

"Listen!" said Margaret, quickly. "The money is yours now--by my act.
You say you--care for me. If I am the sort of woman you think me--I
don't say I am, and I don't say I'm not--but thinking me that sort of
woman, don't you think I'd--I'd marry you for the asking if you kept
the money? Don't you think you're losing every chance of me by burning
that will? Oh, I'm not standing on conventionalities now! Don't you
think that, Billy?"

She was tempting him to the uttermost; and her heart was sick with
fear lest he might yield. This was the Eagle's last battle; and
recreant Love fought with the Eagle against poor Billy, who had only
his honour to help him.

Margaret's face was pale as she bent toward him, her lips parted a
little, her eyes glinting eerily in the firelight. The room was dark
now save in the small radius of its amber glow; beyond that was
darkness where panels and brasses blinked.

"Yes," said Billy, gravely--"forgive me if I'm wrong, dear, but--I
do think that. But you see you don't care for me, Peggy. In the
summer-house I though