"Yes—I am sure you do. It is that, what you are, convinces me you do. Even the remarkable and sensible explanation you gave of it when you interpreted the parable of the talents is not so powerful as the impression that you yourself believe after thinking it out for yourself —not accepting the old explanations. And then," she added, with a note as of surprise, "you are willing to sacrifice everything for it!"
"And you?" he asked. "Cannot you, too, believe to that extent?"
"Everything?" she repeated. "It would mean—poverty. No—God help me —I cannot face it. I have become too hard. I cannot do without the world. And even if I could! Oh, you cannot know what you ask Everett, my husband—I must say it, you make me tell you everything—is not free. He is little better than a slave to Eldon Parr. I hate Eldon Parr," she added, with startling inconsequence.
"If I had only known what it would lead to when I made Everett what he is! But I knew nothing of business, and I wanted money, position to satisfy my craving at the loss of—that other thing. And now I couldn't change my husband if I would. He hasn't the courage, he hasn't the vision. What there was of him, long ago, has been killed—and I killed it. He isn't—anybody, now."
She relapsed again into weeping.
"And then it might not mean only poverty—it might mean disgrace."
"Disgrace!" the rector involuntarily took up the word.
"There are some things he has done," she said in a low voice, "which he thought he was obliged to do which Eldon Parr made him do."
"But Mr. Parr, too—?" Hodder began.
"Oh, it was to shield Eldon Parr. They could never be traced to him. And if they ever came out, it would kill my husband. Tell me," she implored, "what can I do? What shall I do? You are responsible. You have made me more bitterly unhappy than ever."