"Yes. And there is hardly a greater insult than to break a contract of marriage." The fear was sharp in Melville's voice again. "He cannot afford to believe me that there was none. Mrs. Lambert is a formidable woman—" He stopped abruptly.

"I see." Rathbone did see, extremely clearly, the nature of the predicament. He also felt increasingly certain that Melville was withholding something which he knew to be of importance. "Have you told me all the facts, Mr. Melville?"

"All that are relevant, yes." Melville spoke so unhesitatingly that Rathbone was sure he was lying. He had been expecting the question and was prepared for it.

"You have not found your affections engaged elsewhere?" He looked at Melville closely and thought he saw a faint flush in his cheeks, although his eyes did not waver.

"I have no desire or intention of marrying anyone else," Melville said with conviction. "You may search all you care to, you will find nothing to suggest I have paid the slightest court to any other lady. I work extremely hard, Sir Oliver. It is one of the most difficult things in the world to establish oneself as an architect." There was a ring of bitterness in his voice, and something which was almost certainly pride. His clear eyes were filled with light. "It requires time and skill in negotiation, patience, the art of diplomacy, as well as a vision of precisely what makes a building both beautiful and functional, strong enough to endure through generations of time and yet not so exorbitantly expensive that no one can afford to construct it. It requires a magnitude of ideas and yet note of the minutest detail. Perhaps the law is the same." He raised his brows and stared questioningly, almost challengingly. For the first time Rathbone was conscious of the man's remarkable mind, the breadth and the power of his intellect. He must indeed have an extraordi nary strength of will. His present problem was not indicative of his character. He was certainly not a man of indecision.

"Yes," Rathbone agreed ruefully, many of his own past romances, or near romances, fleeting through his mind. He had been too busy, too ambitious, to allow the time necessary to enlarge them into courtship. This he could understand with no effort at all. But he had not been unmindful enough of others, or of the way of the world, to allow himself to be so misunderstood that anyone, even a socially avaricious would-be mother-in-law, had missed his intentions.

"Yes, the law is a hard taskmistress, Mr. Melville," he agreed. "And one requiring both imagination and exactitude if one is to succeed. And it also requires an ability to judge character. I confess that I do not think you are telling me the whole truth of this matter."

He saw Melville's face tighten and the skin around his lips turn pale.