"He is quite right," she thought, "anyone like me ... how could he?" And with a feeling of final renunciation, she collapsed in a heap.
Shocked, he hurried to her side, leaned over her, and tried to stroke her hands; but she thrust him from her. At a loss to find words to vindicate his miserable subterfuge, he took up the thread at the point where her laugh had interrupted it.
"Do believe me, dearest friend, when I say that I had given up all thoughts of myself. I swear that I wanted no reward, and subsequently acted for your good alone. My one desire was to preserve you from sinking to the lowest depths. I know from experience how many have done so; a few years, no more, and they either go on the streets, or grow more and more hideous and careworn ... and then it is impossible to tell what they were once.... And that the same fate should not befall you, I hit on the idea about the cheque and wrote to my American agents. Your falling in with it was such a joy to me that I didn't sleep a wink for two nights. I knew I had saved you from ruin."
"Ruin?" queried Lilly; "what do you mean? Before the cheque came I had earned quite a respectable sum by my art. You yourself helped; you yourself said if I persevered----"
She paused, filled with sudden anxiety at the thought that if it came to a rupture between them to-night her one and only prospect of making a living would be gone.
Not a word of reassurance came from him. In stubborn silence he plucked at the fringe of the table-cloth.
"Please speak. Have you entirely forgotten all you've done for me?"
He pulled himself erect. "If you must know all," he said with a shrug of the shoulders, "perhaps it's as well; from this evening we'll start clear."
"Is there anything else, then?" Lilly cried in ever-increasing dismay.
"Do you remember the day you came over the factory--I made you turn back in the storeroom?"