“Yes—­if you will bring back to Miss Lynden her trooper friend when you come again.  Will you?”

“Who?  Oh, Ormond.  Yes, of course, if she wishes——­”

But she could not endure her own dishonesty any longer.

“Captain Hallam,” she said with stiffened lips, “I—­I have just lied to you.  It is not for Miss Lynden that I asked; it is for myself!”

He looked at her in a stunned sort of way.  She said, forcing herself to meet his eyes: 

“Trooper Ormond is your escort; don’t you understand?  I desire to see him again, because I knew him in New York.”

“Oh,” said Hallam slowly.

She stood silent, the colour racing through her cheeks.  She could not, in the same breath, ask Hallam to release her.  It was impossible.  Nothing on earth could prevent his believing that it was because she wished to marry Berkley.  And she was never to marry Berkley.  She knew it, now.

“Who is this Private Ormond, anyway?” asked Hallam, handsome eyes bent curiously on her.

And she said, calmly:  “I think you did not mean to ask me that, Captain Hallam.”

“Why not?”

“Because the man in question would have told you had he not desired the privilege of privacy—­to which we all are entitled, I think.”

“It seems to me,” said Hallam, reddening, “that, under the circumstances, I myself have been invested by you with some privileges.”

“Not yet,” she returned quietly.  And again her reply implied deceit; and she saw, too late, whither that reply led—­where she was drifting, helpless to save herself, or Berkley, or this man to whom she had been betrothed.

“I’ve got to speak now,” she began desperately calm.  “I must tell you that I cannot marry you.  I do not love you enough.  I am forced to say it.  I was a selfish, weak, unhappy fool when I thought I could care enough for you to marry you.  All the fault is mine; all the blame is on me.  I am a despicable woman.”

“Are you crazy, Ailsa!”

“Half crazed, I think.  If you can, some day, try to forgive me—­I should be very grateful.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you—­you are—­have been—­in love with this—­this broken-down adventurer——­”

“Yes.  From the first second in my life that I ever saw him.  Now you know the truth.  And you will now consider me worthy of this—­adventurer——­”

“No,” he replied.  And thought a moment.  Then he looked at her.

“I don’t intend to give you up,” he said.

“Captain Hallam, believe me, I am sorry——­”

“I won’t give you up,” he repeated doggedly.

“You won’t—­release me?”

“No.”

She said, with heightened colour:  “I am dreadfully sorry—­and bitterly ashamed.  I deserve no mercy, no consideration at your hands.  But—­I must return your ring—­” She slipped it from her finger, laid it on the table, placed the chain and locket beside it.