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"I am an old man and have lived a hard life and the end may come at any moment. I cannot leave my hard-won money to be squandered by some young fool of a husband. I want you to marry and to marry at once my partner Pretoria Smith, as we call him. You may find him a bit rough, but he is a straight 'un. He took a lot of persuading, but because he loves his old partner he has agreed. He will be on his way when this reaches you. Cable me your decision. If you say no, Marjorie, then the large allowance I make to your mother ceases forthwith. I will wash my hands of you. Your affectionate uncle, SOLOMON STEDMAN"
Marjorie Stedman read the letter again and the words swam before her eyes. Those big grey eyes were set well apart in a face of delicate sweetness. Hands and feet were small but not too small for that slight figure, with its soft curves and its graceful lines. There were few more beautiful women in the world than Marjorie Stedman, who from the crown of her golden head to the tips of her dainty shoes would have satisfied the most exigent requirements of the old Greek sculptors. The virginal purity of her flawless skin was emphasized by a pair of vivid red lips, inviting and tantalizing. Now the ivory skin was tinted pink with shame and indignation and the lovely eyes blazed with hopeless anger.