"That's all. I may have done thought-reading, but I have never really cheated since—never. . . . If you knew how hard it is . . ."
"I wish you had told me that before."
"I couldn't. Before you came it was different. He used to make fun of the people—used to imitate Lagune and make me laugh. It seemed a sort of joke." She stopped abruptly. "Why did you ever come on with me? I told you not to—you know I did."
She was near wailing. For a minute she was silent.
"I can't go to his sister's," she cried. "I may be a coward—but I can't."
Pause. And then Lewisham saw his solution straight and clear. Suddenly his secret desire had become his manifest duty.
"Look here," he said, not looking at her and pulling his moustache. "I won't have you doing any more of that damned cheating. You shan't soil yourself any more. And I won't have you leaving London."
"But what am I to do?" Her voice went up.
"Well—there is one thing you can do. If you dare."
"What is it?"
He made no answer for some seconds. Then he
