He sat, stiff in his closely-buttoned overcoat, like a statue beside her, and spoke no word.
She took his hand, as it lay on his knee.
“Forgive me—do forgive me! I am so sorry—so dreadfully sorry!”
“What for?” he said, gently.
“For bringing this on you—this—this disgrace. And you cannot forgive me, that is just it. I realised it when you refused to see me just now, and sent me a message by a servant.”
“I had to. Think, yourself! You must really not be so unreasonable!”
“I am reasonable—quite, quite reasonable; and saying good-bye to you, if you only would let me! Yes, you never cared for me much, and now the little ghost of love is laid forever. This threatened disgrace and exposure has killed it. But it was there—don’t take that from me—a little love, and the rest of it pity. Egidia says so, and I believe her.... Stop, stop, I am not asking you to say anything—I had rather you did not protest.... Oh, look at that great red Bovril sign flaring out! It looks as if the whole street was on fire. It must frighten the horses....”
Her voice broke into a sob of hysterical terror.
“Dear——” began Rivers, clasping her hand more tightly.
“How nice of you! It hardly sounds at all perfunctory! And yet I know it is. Don’t try any more. Let me tell you that I don’t mind this for myself, but only for you, and I mean to defend myself tooth and nail, only for your sake. I know what it means for you. If Mortimer and his paid accomplices can succeed in lying me away from him, then the world will expect you to marry me.”