He sat silent for a moment, his head resting thoughtfully on his hand. "I suppose it had to come," he said at last. "Somehow, it always seemed to me that the concern was doomed. The foundations weren't honest. The Rajah was more or less beguiled into it--" He broke off, turning crimson with vexation. "I beg your pardon, Beatrice. I forgot that that was one of your--escapades." She looked at him steadily, and he was struck and again strangely moved by her pale beauty. He had never seen her so gentle, so free from her cold and mocking gaiety. "You must not apologize. And do not smooth over a mean, low trick with the name of an escapade. It was not an escapade, for an escapade is the overflow of high and reckless spirits, and what I did was done in cold blood and with a purpose. I have come to tell you about that purpose." He could not repress a movement of surprise. "Surely you have something more serious on your mind than that? If, as you say, your--your financial position has been rendered precarious by this failure of the Marut Company, would it not be advisable to hurry on our marriage at once? Of course, in the meanwhile, if I can do anything to help your mother--" She touched him gently on the arm. "I told you I had come on a serious matter," she said. "Won't you let me tell you what it is?" "Of course, Beatrice, of course. Only I thought that was the serious matter." "It is perhaps for my mother, but not for me. Things have changed their value in my life. Just now I feel there is only one thing that has any value at all, and that is freedom." "From what? I do not understand. Do you mean from debt?" She smiled sadly. "Yes, from debt. John, I want to ask you an honest question honestly. Why did you ask me to become your wife?" He moved uneasily. "Why do you ask? Surely we understand each other." "We did, perhaps, but I have told you that things have changed. Won't you answer me?" "I asked you--because I wished you to be my wife," he returned stubbornly. "John, isn't that rather a lame equivocation?" He stared at her with heavy, troubled eyes. "Yes, it was. But the truth might hurt you, Beatrice." "No, it wouldn't. Nothing can hurt so much in the end as lies and humbug." "Well, then, I asked you to become my wife because I believed that my conduct had put you into a wrong and painful situation in the eyes of the world." "Nothing else?" "I wished to prove to Lois that I could never be her husband." "You were afraid that she would see through your pretense to your unchanged affection for her?" He started. "Beatrice, how do you know?" "Look in your own glass, John. Yours isn't the face of a man who has shaken off an old attachment." He rose and stood with his back half turned to her, playing idly with the papers on the table. "You are partly right," he said, after a moment's silence, "but not quite. I have more on my shoulders than that; I have a heavy responsibility--a debt to pay."