Barmby caught at hope. It might be true, as Jessica Morgan believed, that Nancy was forsaken. The man Tarrant might be wealthy enough to disregard her prospects. In that case an assiduous lover, one who, by the exercise of a prudent generosity, had obtained power over the girl, could yet hope for reward. Samuel had as little of the villain in his composition as any Camberwell householder. He cherished no dark designs. But, after the manner of his kind, he was in love with Nancy, and even the long pursuit of a lofty ideal does not render a man proof against the elementary forces of human nature. ‘We will suppose then,’ he said, with a certain cheerfulness, ‘that you have nothing whatever to depend upon but your father’s will. What is before you? How can you live?’ ‘That is my own affair.’ It was not said offensively, but in a tone of bitter resignation. Barmby sat down opposite to her, and leaned forward. ‘Do you think for one moment,’--his voice was softly melodious,--‘that I--I who have loved you for years--could let you suffer for want of money?’ He had not skill to read her countenance. Trouble he discerned, and shame; but the half-veiled eyes, the quivering nostril, the hard, cold lips, spoke a language beyond Samuel’s interpretation. Even had he known of the outrages previously inflicted upon her pride, and that this new attack came at a moment when her courage was baffled, her heart cruelly wounded, he would just as little have comprehended the spirit which now kept her mute. He imagined her overcome by his generosity. Another of his great effects had come off with tolerable success. ‘Put your mind at rest,’ he pursued mellifluously. ‘You shall suffer no hardships. I answer for it.’ Still mute, and her head bowed low. Such is the power of nobility displayed before an erring soul! ‘You have never done me justice. Confess that you haven’t!’ To this remarkable appeal Nancy perforce replied: ‘I never thought ill of you.’ When she had spoken, colour came into her cheeks. Observing it, Samuel was strangely moved. Had he impressed her even more profoundly than he hoped to do? Jessica Morgan’s undisguised subjugation had flattered him into credulity respecting his influence over the female mind. ‘But you didn’t think me capable of--of anything extraordinary?’ Even in her torment, Nancy marvelled at this revelation of fatuity. She did not understand the pranks of such a mind as Barmby’s when its balance is disturbed by exciting circumstance. ‘What are you offering me?’ she asked, in a low voice. ‘How could I take money from you?’ ‘I didn’t mean that you should. Your secret has been betrayed to me. Suppose I refuse to know anything about it, and leave things as they were?’ Nancy kept her eyes down.