But Lizzie refused to answer, and Maraquita was compelled to advance into the room. She looked very white and scared, and the folds of her long mantle fell round a fragile figure. ‘Lizzie! Why will you not speak to me? Papa and mamma have gone to the theatre with Sir Russell Johnstone; but I excused myself on the plea of a headache, so that I might come and see you.’ ‘And what do you want with me?’ demanded Lizzie coldly. ‘Cannot you guess? I am so unhappy at what took place this morning. I shall not rest until things are right again between us.’ ‘I do not understand you, Quita! I conclude you spoke the truth this morning, or what you believed to be the truth, and I have nothing more to say upon the subject.’ ‘Oh, Lizzie, have pity on me! You know it was not the truth; but what can I do? Everything that makes life valuable to me seems slipping through my fingers. I could not make up my mind to confess to my own ruin.’ ‘And so you would ruin me instead--I, who have been like a sister to you? You would save your own character at the expense of mine?’ ‘But not for always, Lizzie. Only let me get this marriage over, and I shall be better able to see my way before me. And I shall be rich, too, and able to reward you for your kindness. The child shall never be any burden to you, Lizzie. You may depend upon me for that.’ ‘And do you suppose I would take your money?’ cried the other contemptuously. ‘Do you ask me to sell my honour? You accuse me publicly of being the unmarried mother of this child, and then offer to pay me for the disgrace. You are only heaping insult upon insult, Quita. You had better leave me before you make me forget myself.’ ‘Oh, no, Lizzie, I cannot leave you,’ exclaimed the unhappy girl, drawing nearer to her, ‘until you have heard all I have to say! You have always been my best friend, Lizzie. As a little child I used to run to you in every trouble, and trust you to get me out of every scrape. You will not do less for me now, Lizzie, will you?’ ‘You ask too much, Maraquita. You forget that in helping you out of this danger, I involve myself, in the way which good women dread above everything. I have done it, but it is at the expense of our friendship. I can never be friends with you again.’ ‘But you must--you _must_!’ cried Quita, falling on her knees, and hiding her face in Lizzie’s lap, ‘for your father’s sake, Lizzie, if not for mine.’ ‘I have done it for my father’s sake,’ replied Lizzie, as she moved away from Maraquita’s clasp. ‘Do you suppose I have not been thinking of _him_ all to-day, and of the promise I made him? Nothing else would have kept me silent; but it is over now, and we need say no more upon the subject. I beg of you, Quita, to leave me, and go home again, for your presence here is very painful to me.’