“You must be firm, Gordon. It doesn’t matter in the least whether Sibell loves him or hates him. She must marry him, otherwise we shall both find ourselves in the cart. So there must be no argument. Don’t you agree?” asked the woman. “Of course I agree, my dear Etta. But my ward is stubborn and absolutely refuses to see him again,” replied the bald-headed, deformed man who stood at Lady Wyndcliffe’s side at the window of her private sitting-room overlooking the golden sands and summer sea at the Grand Hotel on the Digue at Knocke, on the Belgian coast.