“No, I do not wish it, though not altogether for these reasons. You are a very beautiful woman and a sweet one, and I have no doubt but that you could soon learn to fill any position which he might be able to give you, with credit to yourself and to him. As for the rest, he is as much to blame as you are, and therefore owes you reparation, so I will say no more upon that point. My reasons are simple and to a certain extent selfish, but I think that they will appeal to you. I believe that you love Henry. Well, if you marry him you will bring this man whom you love to the most irretrievable ruin. I do not know if you have heard of it, but the place where he lives, and where his ancestors have lived for three centuries before him, is deeply encumbered. Should he marry a girl without means it must be sold, leaving us all, not only beggars, but bankrupt. I will not insult you by supposing that the fact that you would find yourself in the painful position of the penniless wife of a person of nominal rank can influence you one way or another, but I do hope that the thought of the position in which he would find himself may influence you. He would be driven from his home, his name would be tarnished, and he would be left burdened with a wife and family, and without a profession, to seek such a living as chance might offer to him.” “I know all this,” said Joan quietly; “but have you quite considered my side of the question, Lady Graves? You seem to have heard the facts: have you thought, then, in what state _I_ shall be left if I refuse the offer that Sir Henry has so generously made to me?” “Doubtless,” answered Lady Graves confusedly—“forgive me for speaking of it—adequate provision, the best possible, would be made——” She stopped, for Joan held up her hand in warning, and said: “If you are going to offer me money compensation, I may as well tell you at once, it is the one thing that I shall not be able to forgive you. Also, where is the provision to come from? Do you wish to endow me with Miss Levinger’s money? I have not sunk to that, Lady Graves.” “I ask your pardon,” she answered; “it is so terribly hard to deal with such a subject without giving offence. Believe me, I have considered your side of the question, and my heart bleeds for you, for I am asking more of you than any one has a right to ask of a woman placed in your position. Indeed, I come to you as a suppliant, not for justice, but for pity; to implore you, in the name of the love which you bear my son, to save him from himself yes, even at the cost of your own ruin.” “You put things plainly, Lady Graves; but how if he loves me? In that event will it be any real kindness to save him from himself? Naturally I do not wish to sacrifice my life for nothing.”