There was a short silence. Lady Mary saw Wenderby's logical trap closing about her. He bent eagerly towards her, and a pleading note came into his voice. Lady Mary could not deny that it pleasurably moved her to detect under the steel of his manner the suspense of entire sincerity. He utterly depended upon her answer.
"My conscience," he said, "does not help me. I cannot balance the right and wrong of this business. I want a better reason. I want the best reason in the world. I want you to be my wife."
Lady Mary did not move. Wenderby's sincerity saved him from the protest with which she had thought to meet it. Nearly a minute passed.
"You understand?" said Wenderby at last.
"I think I understand," she slowly answered, "that this is not exactly what it seems."
"Does it seem so terrible?" he pleaded. "Consider it from my point of view."
"You say that, if I marry you, you will leave the Cabinet. That is my price."
"Obviously, if you consented to marry me, it would be my crowning motive for coming to your people. It is a natural consequence."
"It is my price," she insisted.