“You want to be rid of me?” asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone.

“I have no wish to be rude; but—since you force me to say it—yes.”

“Then take me,” she cried, throwing back her arms, “and throw me out of the window.”

“You think I don’t mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me.” She let herself droop sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. “Try me,” she repeated.

“All this is very well conceived, no doubt,” said he, “and well executed. But it happens to be otiose.”

“I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of my promise.”

Zuleika flushed. “You are cruel. I would give the world and all not to have written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity’s sake!”

The Duke looked searchingly at her. “You mean that you now wish to release me from my promise?”