"Tell me truly, Morris, do you dislike Geoff? Do you not feel resentful because he is so much younger than you are, and is to come after you in place of a son? No one can possibly realise more clearly than you do what it must mean to a man to learn about the woman he desired to marry such a story as you have to tell about me, yet you will not hold your peace. No law of right or justice can defend your thus forcing Geoff to share the misery consequent upon our past sin. You must surely have some reason for wishing him ill?" "On the contrary, my chief object is to save him from the protracted miseries of an unhappy marriage, and incidentally to guard against his son--my future successor--being born of an unsuitable mother." "I see. _Noblesse oblige_. Do you mean to say that if Geoff and I had been already married before you returned to England, you would not have remained silent?" "It is scarcely worth discussing an imaginary case, is it?" "But tell me." "My dear girl, I don't know! Possibly. Indeed, I may even say probably. As a matter of fact, I'm really attached to the boy. If the evil had been beyond prevention I certainly might have seen fit to keep your secret. Even now, since my only aim is to prevent your marriage with him, if you prefer to go away without making any explanation, I give you my word that he shall never know details." "Morris, Morris, must you tell him anyhow? Is it quite inevitable?" "Yes, he must be told--that is to say, the engagement must be broken off. If you prefer to do the job yourself, by all means let it be so." "You won't go to him to-night?" "I will say nothing until this time to-morrow. Perhaps you will have made up your mind to take the right course yourself before then. I'm sorry, but that's the limit of what I can do for you." "No, no, give me longer," she implored. Her lips quivered, causing Morris to fear that this period of calmness might not be long sustained. "Well, I'll give you two days," he agreed. "But it cannot possibly be allowed to continue longer than that. That's forty-eight hours too long." "Is that a promise?" "Yes, yes. Now stand aside from the door, there's a good girl." As she obeyed silently, he stepped out into the passage. "Go to bed, _ma chérie_," he advised. "Have a good night. You'll feel better in the morning." Impatiently she signed to him to be gone, then flung herself into her favourite chair, rested her elbows on one of its arms, and supported her chin on her hands. Thus she sat motionless, gazing fixedly into vacancy with hard, dry eyes, forgetful or regardless of Morris's presence in the open doorway. He lingered a few moments, looking with mingled feelings at her now expressionless but perfect-featured face and graceful form. But she neither spoke nor glanced in his direction, and very soon the street door had closed behind him with a final bang. CHAPTER XXXVIII CONFIDENCES