She stared at him blankly.
"You don't mean—you can't mean—you're not going to tell people?"
"I must. Besides, isn't it what you wish?"
She turned away and sat down, burying her face in her hands. She was crying softly, helplessly, like a child. He came back to her and stood over her as though his first impulse to comfort, her had been checked by recollection.
"Anne, I am a clumsy beggar—I don't understand—I don't know what you want——"
"You can't tell everyone," she sobbed wildly. "You can't, Tris. It would be too cruel. Think of all the people you'd hurt—who would have to suffer with you—all of us, even—even our child—even father. You mustn't do it, Tris. Father may have changed—he will be so happy—I shall beg him for his own sake as well as for mine. He'll do as I ask—I'm sure he will. Tris—it's awful to know this awful thing oneself—but for others to know too—and all the scandal——"
She was incoherent in her piteous despair, but now he understood her.
"You forget Ayeshi, Anne," he said, "and all I owe him."
"Ayeshi——? But people only suspect—he's in hiding because of some money he took—what does he matter? No one could prove anything—only father—and he can clear Ayeshi best of all. Don't you see that—or don't you care? Do you want me to suffer?"
He winced.