"Don't feel that, because it is not possible. Mrs. Travers, do you know who it was who came between you and John Stafford?" Lois' head sank. "I see that you do. Yes, I did my best. I wanted his position—and money. Are you still my friend?"
Lois met the grave, questioning eyes with a sudden energy.
"Yes. That is all over and past. I like you now. I liked you the moment you entered the room. You seemed different."
Beatrice smiled faintly.
"And you, too, are different from any one I have ever known. Another woman would not have been able to forgive as you have done. I have spoiled your life. I can see that."
Lois pressed her hand.
"Hush! You must not say so. I am married—"
"Lois, I have spoiled your life. I have come here to tell you the truth, and you also must be truthful. For pity's sake, let us put lies and humbug on one side. I am sick of them!" For a moment she seemed to fight desperately with herself, and then she went on more quietly: "I have spoiled your life. I have spoiled the life of a man who trusted me. I have spoiled my own. That is what I have done in the twenty-five years given me to work in. I have lied and cheated my way through. And this is the end—miserable bankruptcy."
"Yes," Lois said, nodding. "I heard about it."
"About what? Has your husband told you?"