"I should never have done it, if I had foreseen this." George knew that this represented Neaera's extreme achievement in penitence, and did not press the question. "What a wretch the woman is," Neaera continued. "Oh, what is to be done? Gerald is sure to ask for an explanation." "Quite possible, I should think." "Well, then, I am lost." "You'd better tell him all about it." "I can't; indeed I can't. You won't, will you? Oh, you will stand by me?" "I don't know what Mrs. Bort has said, and so----" He was interrupted by a knock at the door. George rose and opened it. "What is it, Timms?" "Mr. Gerald, sir, wants to see you on important business." "Is he in his room?" "Yes, sir. I told him you were engaged." "You didn't tell him Mrs. Witt was here?" "No, sir." "Say I'll be with him in a few minutes." George shut the door, and said, "Gerald's here, and wants to see me." "Gerald! Then he has got the letter!" "What do you propose to do, Mrs. Witt?" "How can I tell? I don't know what she said. She only told me she had sent back the money, and told him why." "If she told him why----" "I'm ruined," said Neaera, wringing her hands. George stood with his back to the fireplace, and regarded her critically. After a moment's pause, he said, with a smile, "I knew it all--and you were not ruined." "Ah, you are so good!" "Nonsense," said George, with a broader smile. Neaera looked up at him, and smiled too. "Mightn't you risk it? Of course, truth is dangerous, but he's very fond of you." "Won't you help me?" A heavy step and the sound of impatient pushing of furniture were heard from the next room. "Gerald is getting tired of waiting," said George. "Won't you do anything?" asked Neaera again, barely repressing a sob. "Supposing I were willing to lie, where is a possible lie? How can I explain it?" Timms knocked and entered. Gerald begged for a minute's interview, on pressing business. "In a moment," said George. Then, turning to Neaera, he added brusquely, "Come, you must decide, Mrs. Witt." Neaera was no longer in a condition to decide anything. Tears were her ready refuge in time of trouble, and she was picturesquely weeping--for she possessed that rare gift--in the old leathern arm-chair. "Will you leave it to me?" asked George. "I'll do the best I can." Neaera sobbed forth the opinion that George was her only friend. "I shall tell him everything," said George. "Do you authorise me to do that?" "Oh, how miserable I am!--oh, yes, yes." "Then stop crying, and try to look nice." "Why?" "Because I shall bring him in."