‘If he were not well and safe, I shouldn’t be away from him.’ ‘When will you let me see him, Nancy?’ She did not smile, but there was a brightening of her countenance, which she concealed. Tarrant stepped to her side. ‘Dear--my own love--will you try to forgive me? It was all my cursed laziness. It would never have happened if I hadn’t fallen into poverty. Poverty is the devil, and it overcame me.’ ‘How can you think that _I_ shall be strong enough to face it?’ she asked, moving half a step away. ‘Leave me to myself; I am contented; I have made up my mind about what is before me, and I won’t go through all that again.’ Tired of standing, she dropped upon the nearest chair, and lay back. ‘You can’t be contented, Nancy, in a position that dishonours you. From what you tell me, it seems that your secret is no secret at all. Will you compel me to go to that man Barmby and seek information from him about my own wife?’ ‘I have had to do worse things than that.’ ‘Don’t torture me by such vague hints. I entreat you to tell me at once the worst that you have suffered. How did Barmby get to know of your marriage? And why has he kept silent about it? There can’t be anything that you are ashamed to say.’ ‘No. The shame is all yours.’ ‘I take it upon myself, all of it; I ought never to have left you; but that baseness followed only too naturally on the cowardice which kept me from declaring our marriage when honour demanded it. I have played a contemptible part in this story; don’t refuse to help me now that I am ready to behave more like a man. Put your hand in mine, and let us be friends, if we mayn’t be more.’ She sat irresponsive. ‘You were a brave girl. You consented to my going away because it seemed best, and I took advantage of your sincerity. Often enough that last look of yours has reproached me. I wonder how I had the heart to leave you alone.’ Nancy raised herself, and said coldly: ‘It was what I might have expected. I had only my own folly to thank. You behaved as most men would.’ This was a harder reproach than any yet. Tarrant winced under it. He would much rather have been accused of abnormal villainy. ‘And I was foolish,’ continued Nancy, ‘in more ways than you knew. You feared I had told Jessica Morgan of our marriage, and you were right; of course I denied it. She has been the cause of my worst trouble.’ In rapid sentences she told the story of her successive humiliations, recounted her sufferings at the hands of Jessica and Beatrice and Samuel Barmby. When she ceased, there were tears in her eyes. ‘Has Barmby been here again?’ Tarrant asked sternly. ‘Yes. He has been twice, and talked in just the same way, and I had to sit still before him--’ ‘Has he said one word that--?’ ‘No, no,’ she interrupted hastily. ‘He’s only a fool--not man enough to--’