Noticing that her companion seemed hurt by her frankness, she changed the topic.
"Honest to God!" she exclaimed, good-naturedly, "I'm broken-hearted—I'll do anything to save you from this—this public disgrace. I know what it means—I've had my dose of it. But this thing has got to come out, hasn't it?"
The banker's wife wearily nodded assent.
"Yes, I realize that," she said, "but the disgrace of arrest—I can't stand it, Annie! I can't go to prison even if it's only for a minute." Holding out a trembling hand, she went on: "Give me back the letter. I'll leave New York to-night—I'll go to Europe—I'll send it to Judge Brewster from Paris." Looking anxiously into her companion's face, she pleaded: "You'll trust me to do that, won't you? Give it to me, please—you can trust me."
Her hand was still extended, but Annie ignored it.
"No—no," she said, shaking her head, "I can't give it to you—how can I? Don't you understand what the letter means to me?"
"Have pity!" cried the banker's wife, almost beside herself. "You can tell them when I'm out of the country. Don't ask me to make this sacrifice now—don't ask me—don't!"
Annie was beginning to lose patience. The woman's selfishness angered her. With irritation, she said:
"You've lost your nerve, and you don't know what you're saying. Howard's life comes before you—me—or anybody. You know that!"
"Yes—yes," cried Alicia desperately, "I know that. I'm only asking you to wait. I—I ought to have left this morning—that's what I should have done—gone at once. Now it's too late, unless you help me——"