"I sat mute, my complexion altered for the worse by pangs of compunction.
"'But I can make amends,' I murmured at last.
"'How?' he asked eagerly.
"'I can tell the truth—at least partially. I can make an affidavit that Threepenny Bits belonged to my fellow-passenger, that he lent it me just before the accident, or that, seeing he was dead, I took it to hand over to his relatives.'
"For a moment his face brightened up, then it grew dark as suddenly as if it had been lit by electricity. 'They will not believe you,' he said. 'Even if you were a stranger, the paper would contest my claim. But considering your relation to me, considering that the money would fall to you as much as to me, no common-sense jury would credit your evidence.'
"'Well, then, we must break off our engagement.'
"'What would be the good of that? They would ferret out our past relations, would suspect their resumption immediately after the verdict.'
"'Well, then, we must break off our engagement,' I repeated decisively. 'I could never marry a prosecutor in posse—a man in whose heart was smouldering a petty sense of pecuniary injury.'
"'If you married me, I should cease to be a prosecutor in posse,' he said soothingly. 'As the law stands, a husband cannot give evidence against his wife in criminal cases.'
"'Oh, well, then you'd become a persecutor in esse,' I retorted. 'You'd always have something to throw in my teeth, and for my part I could never forgive you the wrong I have done you. We could not possibly live together.'