"But you don't know—"
"I can imagine. Monsieur de Bienville has already done me all the harm he can. It's beyond his power to hurt me any more."
"But, Diane, you don't know what you're saying. You don't know what he's doing. He's—he's—I hardly know how to put it—He's destroying your reputation."
She glanced up with a smile, ceasing for an instant to sew.
"You mean, he's destroying what's left of it. Well, he's welcome! There was so little of it—"
"For God's sake, Diane, don't say that; it breaks my heart. You must consider the position that you put me in. After you've rendered me one the greatest services one person can do another, do you think I can sit quietly by while you are being robbed of the dearest thing in life, just because you did it?"
"I should be sorry to think the opinion other people hold of me to be the dearest thing in life; but, even if it were, I'd willingly give it up for—Dorothea."
"It isn't for Dorothea; it's for me."
"Well, wouldn't you let me do it—for you? I'm not of much use in the world, but it would make me a little happier to think I could do any one a good turn without being promised a reward."
"A reward! Oh, Diane!"