The interruption came from Leonie.
She had wrenched herself from his arms, and was standing gazing into his face in an almost stupid way, her eyes expressive of paralyzing horror. She was bending slightly forward, her lips parted, her countenance drawn to distortion.
"You are betrothed to Evelyn Chandler?" she asked, in a strained undertone.
"Yes."
"My God!"
She lifted her hand to her brow as though to clear her brain.
What was she to do? The situation was hideous to her, and yet she felt herself utterly incapable of revealing the story of her own life and her sister's. But could she in justice allow an innocent man to marry a thief, the daughter of a convict, when she could save him?
To speak would ruin her sister, throw her upon the world as a beggar to fall to the lowest depths of infamy, as Leonie knew she would. To remain silent would very likely result in the ruin of the man she loved.
As she stood revolving the terrible alternative in her mind the door opened, and a blue-coated officer entered the room.
"Are you Leonie Cuyler?" he asked, standing before the shrinking girl.