Dear girl, forgive my prosiness; marry my boy. When I think what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love——— Marry him; it is one of the moments for which the world was made."
She could not understand him; the words were indeed remote. Yet as he spoke the darkness was withdrawn, veil after veil, and she saw to the bottom of her soul.
"Then, Lucy———"
"You've frightened me," she moaned. "Cecil—Mr. Beebe—the ticket's bought—everything." She fell sobbing into the chair. "I'm caught in the tangle. I must suffer and grow old away from him. I cannot break the whole of life for his sake. They trusted me."
A carriage drew up at the front-door.
"Give George my love—once only. Tell him 'muddle.' Then she arranged her veil, while the tears poured over her cheeks inside.
"Lucy———"
"No—they are in the hall—oh, please not, Mr. Emerson—they trust me———"
"But why should they, when you have deceived them?"
Mr. Beebe opened the door, saying: "Here's my mother."
"You're not worthy of their trust."
"What's that?" said Mr. Beebe sharply.
