"No, no. That is the last thing I would think of," protested Raymond heatedly.
"Or that you feel compelled to acquaint Rupert Fosdyke with his rights as his uncle's heir?"
"He has no rights. His uncle has cast him off deliberately. He is an unscrupulous roué—witness his heartless philandering with your friend Madeleine!"
"In that event, why have you made revelations to me, which, if true, cannot fail to be hurtful?"
"I want to become your loyal ally in shielding your mother from the consequences of her past mistakes."
"I am almost powerless, Mr. Raymond. Mrs. Carmac will go from Pont Aven soon. I remain with my father. What sort of alliance can you and I form that will protect or benefit her?"
Raymond's small eyes blazed with sudden fire. She had actually helped him to surmount the stiffest barrier. "The best and most enduring of all," he said thickly. "Marry me! Why not? You are free. I shall be a devoted husband. Your slightest wish will be my law. You will not be separated from your parents, with either of whom you can dwell for such periods as you think fit. Marry me, and every ill now threatening your mother will dissolve into thin air!"
At that crisis the image of Laurence Tollemache obliterated that of the little man with the grating voice, and Yvonne could have laughed aloud. But she kept her head. The naïve habit of thought induced by close communion with her Breton friends stood her in good stead then, when a false move might precipitate she knew not what ills.
"Is that the price of your silence?" she said, and the clear, precise enunciation recalled her mother in every syllable.
"That is not a fair way to put it," was the hoarse answer; for the strain was beginning to tell, even on Raymond's nerves of steel.