She had been very anxious about her father of late.  The occasional heart attacks to which he was subject had become much more frequent, and she knew that his many embarrassments and perplexities were weighing down his health.  Well, that anxiety was at least lightened.  She would be able to help in smoothing away his difficulties.  Surely the man of millions would place her in a position to do so!  He had almost undertaken to do so.

The glad thought nerved her to face the future she had chosen.  She was even very faintly conscious of a mitigation of her antipathy for the man who had made himself her master.  Besides, even though married to him, she surely need not see much of him.  She knew that he spent the whole of his day in the City.  She would still be free to spend hers as she listed.

And so, when she saw him that evening, when his momentous interview with her father was over, she was moved to graciousness for the first time.  A passing glimpse of her father’s face assured her that all had gone well, aye, more than well.

As for Wingarde, he waived the money question altogether when he found himself alone with his fiancee.

“Your father will tell you what provision I am prepared to make for you,” he coldly said.  “He is fully satisfied—­on your behalf.”

She felt the sting of the last words, and flushed furiously.  But she found no word of indignation to utter, though in a moment her graciousness was a thing of the past.

“I have not deceived you,” she said, speaking with an effort.

He gave her a keen look.

“I don’t think you could,” he rejoined quietly.  “And I certainly shouldn’t advise you to try.”

And then to her utter surprise and consternation he took her shoulders between his hands.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

There was not a shade of emotion to be detected in either face or voice as he made the request.  Yet Nina drew back from him with a shudder that she scarcely attempted to disguise.

“No!” she said vehemently.

He set her free instantly, and she thought he smiled.  But the look in his eyes frightened her.  She felt the mastery that would not compel.

“One more thing,” he said, calmly passing on.  “It is usual for a girl in your position to wear an engagement ring.  I should like you to wear this in my honour.”

He held out to her on the palm of his hand a little, old-fashioned ring set with rubies and pearls.  Nina glanced at him in momentary surprise.  It was not in the least what she would have expected as the rich man’s first gift.  Involuntarily she hesitated.  She felt that he had offered her something more than mere precious stones set in gold.

He waited for her to take the ring in absolute silence.

“Mr. Wingarde,” she said nervously, “I—­I am afraid it is something you value.”

“It is,” he said.  “It belonged to my mother.  In fact, it was her engagement ring.  But why should you be afraid?”