“I’m part Maran through both my grandmothers,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I feel a sense of responsibility to you.”

“I don’t believe it!” she snapped. ‘‘About you being part Maran, that is. You couldn’t be part Maran, someone like you, a—” she checked, fumbling for words.

‘‘Well?” He smiled a little grimly at her. “A what?”

“A . . . mercenary! ” she cried triumphantly, finding at last the word that would hurt him the most, in her misinterpretation of it.

He was hurt, and angered; but he managed to conceal it. This girl had the ability to get through his defenses on the most childish level, where a man like William could not.

“Never mind that,” he said. “My question was about you and William. I told you not to try intriguing against him the last time I saw you. Have you followed that advice?”

“Well, I certainly don’t have to answer that question,” she blazed directly at him. “And I won’t.”

“Then,” he said, finding suddenly an insight into her that was possibly a natural compensation for her unusual perceptiveness where he was concerned. “You have. I’m glad to know that.” He turned to go. “I’ll leave you now.”

“Wait a minute,” she cried. He turned back to her. “I didn’t do it because of you!”

“Didn’t you?”

Surprisingly, her eyes wavered and fell.

“All right!” she said. “It just happened your ideas coincided with mine.”

“Or, that what I said was common sense,” he retorted, “and being the person you are, you couldn’t help seeing it.”

She looked fiercely up at him again.

“So he just goes on . . . and I’m chained to him for another ten years with options—”

“Leave that part to me,” said Donal.

Her mouth opened.

“You!” she said; and her astonishment was so great that the word came out in a tone of honest weakness. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You!” she cried. And the word was entirely different this time. “You put yourself in opposition to a man like William—” she broke off suddenly, turning away. “Oh!” she said, angrily, “I don’t know why I keep listening to you as if you were actually telling the truth—when I know what kind of person you are.”

“You don’t know anything at all about what kind of person I am!” he snapped, nettled again. “I’ve done a few things since you first saw me.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “you’ve had a man shot, and pretended to bomb a planet.”

“Good-by,” he said, wearily, turning away. He went out through the little balcony entrance, abruptly leaving her standing there; and unaware that he had left her, not filled with the glow of righteous indignation and triumph she had expected, but oddly disconcerted and dismayed.

He searched throughout the rest of the mansion and finally located the marshal back in his office, and alone.