Marion looked at him one moment longer and then sank back into her seat.
"You are cruel and unkind," she said in broken tones. "Oh, what shall I do?"
Brett hesitated, not knowing exactly what to do, and not finding anything especial to say. It is generally the privilege of man to be the bearer of whatever bad news is in store for woman, but as yet no hard and fast rule of conduct has been laid down for the unfortunate messenger's action under the circumstances. Being at a loss for words with which to console the woman he loved for the pain he had unwillingly given her, Brett sat down opposite her and tried to take her hand. She drew it away hastily.
"No, go away," she said almost under her breath. "Leave me alone. I thought you were my friend."
"Indeed I am," protested Brett in a soothing tone.
"Indeed you are not."
Marion sat up suddenly and drew back to her end of the sofa.
"Do you call this friendship?" she asked almost bitterly. "To refuse to help me at such a moment. Do you not see how I am suffering? Do you not see what is at stake? My husband's reputation, his father's name, good name, life perhaps—the shock of a disgrace would kill him—and for me, everything! And you sit there and refuse to lift a finger to help me—oh, it is too much! Indeed it is more than I can bear!"
"Of course you cannot understand it all now," said Brett, very much distressed. "You cannot see that I am right, but you will see it soon, too soon. You cannot save him. Why should you ruin yourself?"
"Why?"