“Oh, I say, you know....” But he had nothing to say. The sniffing Stevens, disapproval strongly marked upon her countenance, here brought in a tray with coffee and rolls. Margaret, recovering herself with an effort, motioned her to set it down. “You ought to make her take it,” Stevens said to Dr. Kennedy indignantly, “disturbing her before she’s breakfasted. She’s had nothing inside her lips.” He was glad of the interruption. “You stay and back me up, then.” Together they persuaded or forced her to the coffee, she could not eat, and was impatient that Stevens and the tray should go away. Her outburst was over, but she was pitiably shaken. “He’ll come round, all right,” Peter said awkwardly, when they were alone again. She looked at him with fear in her eyes: “Do you really think so?” “Who wouldn’t?” “You don’t think he would go up to London without seeing me?” “Not likely.” She spoke again presently. In the interval Peter conjured up the image of Gabriel Stanton, speaking to her as he had to him, refusing compromise, harshly unapproachable, rigid. “I could never go through what I went through before.” “You shan’t.” “What could you do?” “I’ll find some way ... a medical certificate!” “The shame of it!” She covered her face with her hands. “It won’t happen. She’s had her money. He may have rubbed her up the wrong way, but after all she has nothing to gain by interfering.” “If only I had told him myself! If only I hadn’t lied to him!” Peter, desperately miserable, walked about the room, interjecting a word now and again, trying to inspirit her. “You had better go,” she said to him in the end. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. If he is coming up at all he will be here soon.” “Of course he is coming up. How can I leave you like this?” he answered wildly. “Can’t I do anything, say anything, see him for you?” Margaret showed the pale simulacrum of a smile. “That was my idea, once before, wasn’t it? No, you can’t see him for me.” “I can’t do anything?” “I’m not sure.” She spoke slowly, hesitatingly. In truth she did not know how she was to bear what she saw before her. Not marriage, safety, happiness, was to be hers, only humiliation. Death was preferable, a thousand times preferable. She was impulsive and leaped to this conclusion. “Can’t I do anything?” he said again. “Peter, Peter Kennedy, you say you would do anything, anything, for me. I wonder what you mean by it.... How much or how little?” “Lay down my life.” “Or risk it? There must be a way, you must know a way of ... of shortening things. I could not go through it all again ... not now. If the worst came to the worst, if I can’t make him listen to reason, if he won’t forgive or understand. If I have to face the court again, my father and stepmother to know of my ... my imprudence, all the horrors to be repeated. To have to stand up and deny ... be cross-examined. About you as well as him....”