His face brightened suddenly.
“Hurrah!” he cried. “I have it! With what you’ve got left and my little pile we’ve more than enough to buy you back. Don’t you see? Marry me, dear, and we’ll call the sale off, pay back the money, and——”
He stopped short at sight of her unresponsive face.
“I’ve signed a contract,” she objected.
“What if you have?” he urged. “The contract can be quashed. You’ll give me the right to get you out of it, Barbara?”
She hesitated, her eyes averted from his anxious face.
“Do you mean that you don’t—that you can’t—? Barbara, do you prefer slavery—to me?”
“I mean,” she said slowly, “that I cannot—promise you anything until——”
“But don’t you see, dear, that it would be better, safer that way? As your husband—even as your promised husband—I could—Good Lord! what a preposterous situation! You must give me the right to get you out of it.”
She shook her head.