“By not leaving here,” Zayata answered.
“But my uncle — he would wonder about—”
“He will not wonder. You can write a note. Larkin will leave it in your room at your uncle’s house. Poor Larkin! He must go back, because he knows—”
“Larkin knows—”
“Yes!” Zayata pointed to the secretary, who was nodding solemnly. “Larkin knows the truth, and he must be there to tell. You know nothing. You can stay away.”
“I still don’t understand,” protested the girl.
“I must tell you, then, even though it will hurt you. Suppose you realized that it would be unsafe for you to live in your uncle’s home; that you would be called upon to speak against him. Suppose you knew that you could no longer trust your uncle; that you would be called upon to revile him—”
“I could not do that,” Margaret protested.
“But if you knew that all those things were threatening,” his voice persisted, “what then? Would it not be better to stay away? To disappear? To be free from scorn and misery? To be here, happy and secure?”
“Yes,” admitted Margaret.