“You say that, Lady Graves, but what you mean is that he will _not_ suffer. I will put your thoughts into words: you think that your son has been betrayed by me into a troublesome position, from which most men would escape simply enough—namely, by deserting the woman. As it chances, he is so foolish that, when he has heard of her trouble, he refuses to do this from a mistaken sense of honour. So you come to appeal to that fallen and unfortunate woman, although it must be an insult to you to be obliged even to speak to her, and because you are kind-hearted, you say that your son must suffer. How must he suffer according to your view? His punishment will be, firstly, that at the cost of some passing pain he escapes from a disgraceful marriage with a nameless girl—a half-lady—born of nobody knows whom and bred up in a public-house, with such results that on the first opportunity she follows her mother’s example; and secondly, that he must marry a sweet and beautiful lady who will bring him love as well as fortune, and having shaken himself clear from trouble of every sort, live happy and honoured in the position that he has inherited. And if, as you wish, I inflict all this upon him by refusing to marry him, what will be my reward? A life of shame and remorse for myself and my unborn child, till at length I die of a broken heart, or perhaps——” And she stopped. “Oh! how can I ask it of you?” broke in Lady Graves. “I do not know—that is a matter for your own conscience; but you have asked it, understanding all that it means to me. Well, Lady Graves, I will do as you wish, I will not accept your son’s offer. He never made me a promise of marriage, and I never asked or expected any. Whatever I have done I did for love of him, and it was my fault, not his—or as much my fault as his—and I must pay the price. I love him so well that I sacrifice my child and myself, that I put him out of my life—yes, and give him to the arms of my rival”—and Joan made a movement with her hands as though to push away some unseen presence. “You are a very noble woman,” said Lady Graves—“so noble that my mind misgives me; and notwithstanding all that I have said, I am inclined to ask you to forget that promise and let things take their chance. Whatever may have been your faults, no man could do wrong to marry such a wife.” “No, no—I have promised, and there’s an end; and may God have mercy on me, for He alone knows how I shall perform what now I undertake! Forgive me, your ladyship, but I am very tired.” Then her visitor rose. “My dear girl,” she said, “my dear, dear girl, in asking all this of you I have done only what I believed to be my duty; and should you, on reflection, come to any different conclusion from that which you have just expressed, I can only say that I for one shall not blame you, and that, whatever the event, you will always have me for your friend.” And, moved to it by a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed Joan upon the forehead.