Lily and Mr. Sheldrake walked into the little room, and the landlady closed the door of communication between it and the bar. Lily, standing near this door, waited in painful suspense for Mr. Sheldrake to speak. He had noticed that when she entered the room she had moved timorously towards the door as if for protection, and he experienced a feeling of mingled anger and mortification, any outward exhibition of which, however, he successfully repressed. When he spoke he spoke slowly, as if studying his words.
"Your behaviour towards me is ungenerous to a degree. At any other time, and under any other circumstances, I might be disposed to wash my hands of this affair at once. Notwithstanding the feelings I entertain for you--do not be alarmed; I am not going to speak of them--I owe to myself a certain amount of self-respect, and I stand in danger of forfeiting this, and of placing myself in a false light, by silent submission to your distrust of me. But"--and here his voice grew less restrained, and his words were expressed with more warmth--"I can afford even this renunciation of self-defence, simple as it is, and unsupported, except by my consistent behaviour towards yourself and your brother, in the consciousness that what I am doing is done out of pure disinterested friendship and esteem."
"For mercy's sake," she implored, "speak more plainly, and tell me for what purpose you have brought me here."
"For no purpose of my own; for your brother's sake. It is a matter of life or death to him."
She clasped her hands, and could not find words to speak for her agony. She had never appeared more fascinating in his eyes than she appeared to him now, as she stood before him in pleading attitude. But although he was under the spell of this fascination, and although he knew that she was at his mercy, he was instinctively conscious, bold and unscrupulous as he was, that he held no power for ill over her. Her innocence and trustfulness were a stronger armour than any which cunning and artifice could supply. As he gazed at her in admiration, he thought how proud he should be of her if she was his, and thought, too, taking credit for the generosity of the sentiment, that if the worst came to the worst, he would marry her.
"Where is the note that I wrote to you?" he asked.
"Here it is."
"Had you not better be seated?" he said, as he took the note from her hand. "You will want all your strength."
She sank into the chair he handed her, and he, glancing at the note carelessly, put it into the fire.
"There must be no chance," he said, when it was destroyed, "of such evidence falling into strange hands. For your brother's sake."