h point of view. A Britisher--except when he had that fiddle
tucked under his chin. Then Cutty admitted he did not know what he was.
Devil take him!

There must have been something electrical in Cutty's resentment, for
the object of it felt it subtly, and it fired his own. He resented the
freedom of action that had always been denied him, resented his host's
mental and physical superiority. Did Cutty care for the girl, or was he
playing the game as it had been suggested to him? Money and freedom. But
then, it was in no sense a barter; she would be giving nothing, and the
old beggar would be asking nothing. His suggestion! He laughed.

"What's the joke?" asked Cutty, looking up from his coffee, which he was
stirring with unnecessary vigour.

"It isn't a joke. I'm bally well twisted. I laugh now when I think of
something tragic. I am sorry about last night. I was mad, I suppose."

"Tell me about it."

Cutty listened intently and smiled occasionally. Mad as hatters, both of
them. He and Kitty couldn't have gone on a romp like this, but Kitty and
Hawksley could. Thereupon his resentment boiled up again.

"Have you any idea why she took such a risk? Why she came here, knowing
me to be absent?"

"She spoke of a problem. I fancy it related to your approaching
marriage. She told me."

Cutty laid down his spoon. "I'd like to dump Your Highness into the
middle of East River for putting that idea into my head. She has
consented to it; and now, damn it, I've got to back out of it!" Cutty
rose and flung down his napkin.

"Why?" asked the bewildered Hawksley.

"Because there is in me the making of a first-rate scoundrel, and I
never should have known it if you and your affairs hadn't turned up."

Cutty entered his study and slammed the door, leaving Hawksley prey to
so many conflicting emotions that his head began to bother him. Back
out of it! Why? Why should Kitty have a problem to solve over such a
marriage of convenience, and why should the old thoroughbred want to
back out?

Kitty would be free, then? A flash of fire, which subsided quickly under
the smothering truth. What if she were free? He could not ask her to be
his wife. Not because of last night's madness. That no longer troubled
him. She was the sort who would understand, if he told her. She had
a soul big with understanding. It was that he walked in the shadow of
death, and would so long as Karlov was free; and he could not ask any
woman to share that.