"That isn't prison," she said quietly and put her hand over the table.
He caught it in his and held it tight.
"Maisie," he said, "you know I love you. I love you more dearly than anything in the world."
She did not speak.
"As my wife," he went on, "you would be safe and I should be happy. I just want you all the time."
Gently she disengaged her hand, shaking her head with a little smile.
"What would that mean, Stafford?" she said. "You know you are deceiving me when you agree that my father——" again her voice shook—"no, no," she said, "it would ruin your career to have the daughter of a convict for your wife. I realise very well what it will mean, for I know—I know—I know!"
"What do you know?" he asked in a low voice.
"I know that all my work will be in vain. But I must go on with it. I must, or I shall go mad. I know nothing on earth can clear my father, but I'm not going to tell you that again. I just want to think there is a possibility that some miracle will happen, that all the evidence which even I have against him will be explained away."
He took her unresisting hand in his, and under the cover of the tablecloth held it tight.