He had worked himself up to a pitch of excitement surpassing that of
Diana. Now he passed his hand over his forehead, collected himself with
a slight shudder, and resumed his seat.

Diana was astonished. His fierce mood served to subdue her own.
Regarding him curiously for a time she finally asked:

"You speak as if you were to be allowed to have your own way--as if all
society was not arrayed against you. Have you counted the cost of your
action? Have you considered the consequences of this crime?"

"I have committed no crime," he said stubbornly. "All's fair in love and
war."

"The courts will refuse to consider that argument, I imagine," she
retorted. "Moreover, the friends of this kidnaped girl are powerful and
active. They will show you no mercy if you are discovered."

"If I fail," answered Mershone, slowly, "I do not care a continental
what they do to me, for my life will be a blank without Louise. But I
really see no reason to despair, despite your womanish croakings. All
seems to be going nicely and just as I had anticipated."

"I am glad that you are satisfied," Diana returned, with scornful
emphasis. "But understand me, sir; this is none of my affair in any
way--except that I shall surely expose you if a hair of the girl's head
is injured. You must not come here again. I shall refuse to see you. You
ought not to have come to-day."