Stafford's strength and nerve had saved the situation,
but the incident had effectually put an end to their conversation, and
now for the first time Stafford found himself alone and at liberty to
bring some order into his troubled thoughts.
He was not, as Marut supposed, a conscience-stricken man, but a man
with a diseased conscience, his sense of duty and responsibility
developed to abnormities which left him no clear judgment. He had
broken with Lois because he loved her and because there seemed no
other way of shielding her from the most terrible blow that could fall
upon any human life--judging by the only standard he knew, which was
his own. He had asked Beatrice to be his wife because it cut the last
link and because he knew--Travers had told him--that the Station had
long since coupled their names together in a way that cast a deeper
shadow about Beatrice's reputation.
"It's no one's fault, old fellow," Travers had said sympathetically.
"You meant no harm, but you were often with her, and that old fiend,
Mrs. Cary, has told every one that you 'were as good as--' And then
you know what the people are here. When they see that things are at an
end between you and Lois they will dig their knives deeper into Miss
Cary, without giving her the credit of having won her game. She is
fairly at every one's mercy here. I am sorry for Lois, but the other
is worse off, according to my lights.
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