"If I'm convicted. If I get a long sentence. If I have to stand much more of this—Lettice! I can't humbug you. I've told Denis a stack of lies as high as a house, of which he may or may not believe one-third. I can't let him see the truth, because it's his evidence that's going to convict me. He has enough on his shoulders without that, poor old chap. But you—I don't care how much you know. And I want your help. I'm afraid."
She looked at him, questioning.
"I'm afraid," he repeated under his breath, lower than a whisper. The perspiration started on his forehead. "I'm not like Denis, you know. He's A1 quality, sound all through—if he wanted to go wrong I believe he wouldn't know the way! But I'm different. I'm second-rate. I ought not to be, being the son of my daddy, but I haven't kept up to his standard. He doesn't see it, bless his heart; but you do, and Denis does, though he tries to blind his eyes, and even Tom—in his heart of hearts he can't help feeling that his brother is a bit of a bounder. Oh yes, I always know when I grate on people. I see my own shortcomings plainer than any of you. I'm second-rate in manners, and in morals, and in essential stuff." He looked straight at her, and though Lettice could have contradicted him, she did not; for she saw what he meant, and was not afraid to admit to herself that there was a measure of truth in his self-condemnation. "Thanks," said Gardiner, with a fleeting smile, bending his head in acknowledgment of her honesty. "That's me, and I never forget it. I wanted to put you wise before I went on to what I have to say. I can just stand this now because it's not final. I still hope to get out in February, though I may swear I don't. I daren't leave off hoping it. I'm holding on to that. But if—if it isn't—If I get a long sentence—years, perhaps—I'm afraid, Lettice. I—I—I'm afraid of myself.... So may I hold on to you? May I tell myself that I can come to you when it's over?"
"Yes," said Lettice.
Against the drag of his urgent need she stood like a rock in flood-time. It was not merely love that drew them together; for lovers, even devoted lovers, may part without injury to their characters; sometimes, indeed, to their own ultimate gain. But these two could not have parted without grave loss and damage, especially to Gardiner. Yes, and to Lettice also; for he called out faculties which but for him would have slept for ever in comfortable laziness. Instinct drove them together, as two drops of water are driven to coalesce. He had her hands again in a desperate clutch; for a moment he rested his forehead on them.
"Time's up, miss," said the warder at the door.
Lettice freed herself without haste or embarrassment.
"Till February, then," said she.
"You're surely not coming up to the trial?"
"Of course I am," said Lettice.