“I’m going to tell Mr. Guestwick that he can’t buy me.”
“But I’m willing to be bought,” he said, forcing a smile. “In fact that’s what I came for.”
She shrunk back as though he had struck her. Her big eyes looked reproach at him. Tremulous eager words seemed forced from her by the agitation into which his words had thrown her.
“You couldn’t do that now,” she wailed, “not now you know. They’ll be in very soon now and what could I say if the money was gone? Don’t you see they would send me away in disgrace and Norton would believe that I was just as bad as they said? Then he’d divorce me and I think my heart would break.”
“Damn!” muttered Trent. Things were happening in an unexpected fashion. He tried not to look at her piteous face.
“Please be kind to me,” she begged, “this is your opportunity to do one great noble thing.”
“It really means so much to you?” he asked.
“It means everything,” she said simply.
He paced the room for a minute or more. He was fighting a great battle. There remained in him, despite his mode of living, a certain generosity of character, a certain fineness bequeathed him by generations of honorable folk. He saw clearly what the girl meant. She was here to fight for her happiness and the redemption of the man she loved. How small a thing, it seemed to him suddenly, was the necessity he had felt for obtaining the miserable money. What stinging mordant memories would always be his if he refused her!
There was a tenderness, a protective look in his eyes when he glanced down at her. He was his father’s son again.