First, have they told you that I'm a ruined man?"
Molly's face became troubled. "Yes," she said. "Lady Caryl told me. I was
very sorry--for you."
She uttered the last two words with a conscious effort. He was mastering
her in some subtle fashion, drawing her by some means irresistible. She
felt almost as if some occult force were at work upon her. He did not
thank her for her sympathy. Without comment he passed on to his second
question.
"And are you still disposed to be generous?" he asked her, with a
directness that surpassed her own. "Is your offer--that splendid offer of
yours--still open? Or have you changed your mind? You mustn't pity me
overmuch. I have enough to live on--enough for two"--he smiled again that
pleasant, sudden smile of his--"if you will do the cooking and polish the
front-door knob."
"What will you do?" demanded Molly, with a new-found independence of tone
that his light manner made possible.
"I shall clean the boots," he answered, promptly, "or swab the floors,
or, it may be"--he bent slightly towards her, and she saw a new light in
his eyes as he ended--"it may be, stand by my wife to lift the saucepan
off the fire, or do all her other little jobs when she is tired."
Again, and more strongly, she felt that he was drawing her, and she knew
that she was going--going into deep waters in which his hand alone could
hold her up.
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