," Beatrice murmured. "If you had come a week
ago I should have asked you to marry me and take me away from it all.
And yet, if I had done so, my father would have been ruined and
disgraced."

Mark Ventmore moved his shoulders a little impatiently.

"So Sir Charles says," he replied. "Sir Charles was always very good at
those insinuations. He has played upon your feelings, of course,
sweetheart."

"Not this time, Mark. He has mixed himself up in some disgraceful City
business. A prosecution hangs in the air. And I am to be the price of
his freedom. My future husband will see my father through after I become
his wife. Even now there are private detectives watching my father. It
is a dreadful business altogether, Mark. And yet if you had come a week
ago, I should have risked it all for your sake."

Ventmore pressed the trembling figure to his heart passionately. Under
his breath he swore that this hideous sacrifice should never be. Was
this white-drawn woman in his arms, the happy laughing little Beatrice
that he used to know? They had parted cheerfully enough a year since;
they had agreed not to write to one another; they had infinite trust in
the future. Mark was going to make his fortune as a painter, and
Beatrice was to wait for him. And now it was the girl's wedding eve, and
the fates had been too strong for her altogether.

"Leave your father to himself and come," Mark urged. "I am making enough
now to keep us both in comfort; not quite the income that I hoped to ask
you to share with me, but at least we shall be happy. I will take you to
a dear old friend of mine, and to-morrow I will buy a license. After
that no harm can molest you."

Beatrice closed her eyes before the beatitude of the prospect. Just for
the moment she felt inclined to yield. Mark was so strong and good and
handsome, and she loved him so. And yet she had given her word for the
sake of her father.

"I cannot," she said. Her voice was very low but quite firm. "I have
promised my father. Oh, yes, I know that I had promised you first. But
it is for the sake of my father's honour. If I do what you wish he will
go to jail--nothing can prevent it. I only knew to-night."

"And you are sure that Sir Charles is not--not ... you know what I
mean?"

"Lying to me?" Beatrice said bitterly. "Not this time. I always know
when he is making an effort to deceive me. Mark, don't press me."

Mark crushed down his feelings with an effort. Blindly and passi