“I don't mean to reproach you, Geoff,” she said at last. “I have never even told you how hard and unbearable it has been for me—the horror or the haunting sense of sin and shame. Perhaps you did mean it for the best. I hope you did for your own sake, not for mine; I hope you did!—but I have suffered so.
“There has been such a stain upon my soul since the days of my loveless marriage, it would not wear away, it has only grown less since I came here. I wish to forget—I wish to begin again and there is no one who should be so near as you, no one to whom I can so justly look for protection. Shall we not begin again, Geoff? I am so sure we may be happy if we only will, and the life you lead, dear, is such an awful mistake—it can bring you nothing but pain, and to have you come to me worn and jaded, drags me down more than I can tell. I am constantly fearing that serious trouble may overtake you, I live in continual apprehension about you. Is it right that I, who have so much to make amends for, should support this load, too? Can I not grow back into some measure of innocence, without having sin and evil brought forever to me—Geoff—Geoff!”
She looked up appealingly.
His eyes were closed and his breathing proclaimed him to be half asleep.
With a sudden uncontrollable feeling of repulsion she shrank away from his side; then she stood erect.
Her movement aroused him. With a yawn he opened his eyes and glanced about stupidly as though he could not quite remember where he was.
“Really, I beg your pardon,” he said with lazy politeness. “But the heat made me drowsy. Positively I could not keep my eyes open.”
He thought it about time to bring matters to a crisis. He drew himself together and made ready to terminate the interview.
“How much can you let me have? I am aware that your bankers won't remit for a while yet, but can't you do something for me temporarily? As you see, I am abominably shabby and it's no way for a gentleman to appear.”
“How much do you need?” Margaret asked.