Then for the first time Joan lied. So far as she was aware, she had never before told a deliberate falsehood; but now she had entered on a path in which falsehood of necessity becomes a weapon of self-defence, to be used at all times and places. She did not pause to think; she knew that she must protect herself and her lover from this keen-eyed, plausible man, who was searching out their secret for some purpose of his own. “No, sir,” she said boldly, looking him in the face, “there is no truth. I nursed Sir Henry Graves, and I tried to do my duty by him, and of course people talked about us. For years past I never could speak to a man but what they talked about me in Bradmouth.” Mr. Levinger shrugged his shoulders. “I have asked my question, and I have got my answer. Of course I believe you; but even if the story were ever so true, I should not have expected any other reply. Well, I am glad to hear that it is not true, for it would have been much to the detriment of both yourself and Sir Henry Graves—especially of Sir Henry Graves.” “Why especially of Sir Henry, sir? I have always understood that it is the girl who suffers if there is any talk, because she is the weaker. Not that talk matters to one like me who has nothing to lose.” “Because it might interfere with his matrimonial prospects, that is all. As you may have heard, the affairs of this family are in such a condition that, if Sir Henry does not marry advantageously, he will be utterly ruined. He may as well commit suicide as attempt to take a wife without money, however fond he might be of her, or however charming she was,” Mr. Levinger said meaningly, watching Joan’s face. She understood him perfectly, and did not hesitate as to her answer, though it must have cost her much to speak it. “I have heard, sir. I have a great regard and respect for Sir Henry Graves, and I hope that he will settle himself well in life. I happen to know, also, that there is a young lady who has fortune and is fond of him. I trust that he will marry her, as she will make him a good wife.” Mr. Levinger nodded. “I trust so too, Joan, for everybody’s sake. Thank you for your good wishes. I was afraid, to speak frankly, that there was some truth in these tales; that you might selfishly, though naturally enough, adopt a course towards Sir Henry Graves which would be prejudicial to his true interests; and that he would possibly be so foolish as to suffer himself to be led away—as, indeed, any man might be without much blame—by the affection of such a woman as you are, Joan.” “I have given you my answer about it, sir. If you think for a minute you will understand that, had there been any truth in these tales, the more reason would there be that I should speak as I have done, seeing that no true woman could wish to injure the man whom she dearly loves, no, not even if it broke her heart to part with him.”