Weapons of love.

Now Jean knew that she loved him, overwhelmingly and with every fiber of her being. She had loved him from the first second of their meeting--loved him when she had first trusted him, when she had known she must do whatever he wished, however, crazy or strange it might seem.

Suddenly she was panic-stricken. "What shall I do when he leaves me?" she cried, feeling a loneliness size had never known, not even in her darkest misery in Scotland.

To him, she was only the means to an end, a weapon he could ruthlessly use in his battle for another woman!

"Suppose," came the whisper in her heart, "I tried to capture him for myself?"