"Well, my dear child, since you know it, that saves me an unpleasant explanation. But you must leave him; you cannot stay here longer: you cannot share his infamy; you shall not be dragged into his ruin. It has been a miserable match; I have always grieved over it; always knew it would end wretchedly. But to come to this!—to this! No, Blanche, you cannot remain here. Come and live at home; there at least you will not live in infamy."
She wept bitterly, but offered no remark.
"Come, Blanche," he said, taking her hand, "you will leave this place, will you not? You will live with us. I cannot promise to make you happy, but at least I can save you from the wretched existence of a gambler's wife. Come—come."
"I cannot!" she sobbed.
"Rouse yourself: conquer this emotion. Think of your future—think of your child!"
She shuddered.
"Think of the child you are to bring into the world. Must it also share in the ruin which its father will inevitably draw upon you? My dear Blanche, you must have courage; for your own sake—for your child's sake—you must quit this house. Come home to me. I am unhappy myself; I want to have some one about me I can love: Rose is the only one: Violet is away: your mother—but don't let me speak of her. You see, Blanche, dear, I want you; you will fill a place at home; you will be so petted; and the little one will have every comfort—and his aunt Rose—but don't sob so, my child: do restrain yourself. You will come, eh?"
"I cannot!"
Vyner took another pinch of snuff, and was disconcerted; there was such wretchedness, but such resolution in her tone, that he felt his arguments had been powerless.
Her sobs were pitiful to hear, and his own eyes were filled with tears, in spite of his rising anger at what he considered her obstinacy.