Then, stumblingly, she told him her story of sorrow.
"I was going to ask you to pay the debt for me," she said, "to get me clear. I dare not tell my mother or father."
"I brought money, as you said you wanted it; and there is nothing more, Sybil?" he said, taking her hands.
"Nothing. We spent the day here—waiting for Mrs Gore. And oh, I was afraid."
"Mrs Gore is in London. I saw her as I was looking for your mother."
"In London!" Sybil's cheeks grew very white. It had all been a lie. She would have dined at the small hotel, waiting for the woman who could never have joined them. And afterwards, alone with the man she feared and yet who influenced her.
Sybil was no innocent fool; the blackness of the chasm she had just missed sliding into was plainly before her eyes.
She flung herself suddenly into Knox's arms.
"Oh, Oliver, if you want me still, take me," she sobbed, "for I am a fool, and not fit to look after myself. I don't mind being poor; I only want you."
Captain Gore Helmsley, meanwhile, was listening to a few softly-uttered home-truths from Esmé Carteret.