“You?”
“Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to defend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of foreign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field they may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred.”
“But what am I to do?” she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by the sincerity blazing from his eyes.
“Necessity has no rules of propriety,” he answered. “I have a car here. You should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it is only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you will consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable employment.”
Winifred covered her face and began to cry. “Oh, I couldn’t!” she sobbed.
“Don’t cry,” said Carshaw tenderly. “You must, you know, since it is the only way. You cry because you do not trust me.”
“Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my past on a sudden. I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen you—”
“There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known you. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don’t cry. Say that you will come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you ever did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded you.”
“But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least.”
“Then, when?”