Anthony Trent shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He had not dared for months now to think of that kindly country physician who died from the exposure attendant on a trip during a blizzard to aid a penniless patient.
“I know what you mean,” he said at length, “and I think it is splendid of you. Good God! why can people like the Guestwicks object to a girl like you?”
“They’ve never seen me,” she explained, “and that’s the main trouble. They persist in thinking of me as a champagne-drinking adventuress who wants to blackmail them. That money"—she pointed to the safe, “I didn’t ask for it. Mr. Guestwick offered it to me as a bribe to give up my husband and consent to a divorce.”
“But I still don’t see why you are here,” he said.
“Our old servant arranged it. She says they always come up here after the opera, all four of them. If I confront them they must see I’m not the sort of girl they think me. I’m dreading it horribly but it’s the only way.”
Anthony Trent looked at her with open admiration.
“You’ll win,” he cried enthusiastically, “I feel it in my bones.”
“And when I absolutely refuse to take their money they must see I’m not the adventuress they call me.”
Anthony Trent had by this time forgotten the money. The mention of it reminded him of his errand and the fleeting minutes.
“If you don’t take it, what is going to happen to it?”