iable cause you would not have
drawn the erroneous inference. And a man who is responsible for that
inference with a woman of your experience and ability, Madeline, must
be more or less a fool, even though his intentions have been absolutely
correct."

"Which leads where, Guy?" she mocked.

"Nowhere," he replied, "I'm trying to say something, and can't say it.
But you know what it is, Madeline. I'm sorry, supremely sorry. Let us
forget this little talk, and go on as though it hadn't occurred--playing
our parts in the present game and besting the other by every means in
our power. I can't accept your offer, because I cannot pay the
consideration. It still must be _a outrance_ with us, Madeline; no
quarter given and no quarter asked."

For a space she looked at him with cold repellence, eyes black as night.
Then her eyes narrowed and she laughed, a mirthlessly sarcastic laugh,
so low that Harleston barely heard it.

"Is red hair then prettier than black, Mr. Harleston?" she asked
mockingly; "or is Mrs. Clephane's character whiter than mine?"

"That is not worthy of you, Madeline," Harleston reproved. "You're a
good sport; hitherto you've taken the count, as well as given it,
without the flutter of an eyelash--and over far more serious matters
than your humble servant, who hasn't anything to give him value."

Again the sarcastic laugh. She knew he was playing the game, two games
indeed, the diplomatic and his own. He had never forgot himself nor
regarded her for one little instant.

"As a lecturer on morals, Mr. Harleston, you are a wonder," she mocked;
"you have almost succeeded--nay quite, shall I say--in convincing
yourself. And when you--a man--do that, what is to be expected of a
woman--who is alone in the world? So I must accept your argument, and
your conclusions, and be content with my duty--and"--with a sudden
ravishing smile--"if I best you, Guy, you will have only yourself to
blame. I won't send Mrs. Clephane a present, nor will I wish you joy of
her, nor her of you; but _you_ won't look for it, and _she_ would think
it somewhat presumptuous in me to assume to know you. These red-headed
women are the very devil, Guy, after they've got you landed--also
before, but in a different way."

"What's your game, Madeline?" he smiled. It had pleased her suddenly to
veer around and resume the play; and far be it from him to balk her.
"I'll admit you have me guessing."

"I thought you believed me, Guy. My game wa