"It seemed to me the only thing to do to ensure your permanent safety; as, when people once know a thing, they naturally cease to speculate about it; and they had already come to the conclusion that the book must have been written by some one in your set. Of course I knew that your publishers any day might show up my false pretences and disgrace me in the eyes of the world, which would never believe in the purity of my motives, but would condemn me as an arrant impostor to the end of the chapter. But I also knew that your publishers would not do this without permission from you; and, angry as you were with me, I did not think you would deal me this final and irrevocable blow, because I felt sure you would understand my reasons, and would know that I had done this somewhat doubtful action solely out of consideration for you."
"I understood this at once."
"I knew you would," Paul continued, "but, you see, dear, other people might not have done so; and they might have fancied I was no better than a literary thief, trading upon a reputation which really was not mine."
Isabel was silent for a moment; then she said: "I told Joanna; I could not help it."
Paul's face fell; he could not bear to feel that even his sister should have the right to sit in judgment upon Isabel.
"And you must also tell your father and mother," persisted Isabel, "I could not be happy if I felt that they still misunderstood you."
"I don't know about that."
"But I do. If you will give way to me just in this, I will do what you want about everything else; and no one but your own people shall ever know that I wrote Shams and Shadows."
And Paul reluctantly consented.
"Shams and Shadows made a lot of money," said Isabel, "but I could not touch a penny of it. I hated it so much that I gave it all to charity."