I like you now. I liked you the
moment you entered the room. You seemed different."
Beatrice smiled faintly.
"And you, too, are different from any one I have ever known. Another
woman would not have been able to forgive as you have done. I have
spoiled your life. I can see that."
Lois pressed her hand.
"Hush! You must not say so. I am married--"
"Lois, I have spoiled your life. I have come here to tell you the
truth, and you also must be truthful. For pity's sake, let us put lies
and humbug on one side. I am sick of them!" For a moment she seemed to
fight desperately with herself, and then she went on more quietly: "I
have spoiled your life. I have spoiled the life of a man who trusted
me. I have spoiled my own. That is what I have done in the twenty-five
years given me to work in. I have lied and cheated my way through. And
this is the end--miserable bankruptcy."
"Yes," Lois said, nodding. "I heard about it."
"About what? Has your husband told you?"
"The Marut Company has failed."
Beatrice sat silent a moment. Her free hand supported the firmly
moulded chin, her eyes were fixed thoughtfully in front of her.
"I did not mean that sort of bankruptcy," she said at last. "That
doesn't count, Lois. I used to think it meant the worst sort of
misfortune, but it doesn't. The inner bankruptcy is worse. The loss of
self-respect, of honor, of the trust of those one--cares for--" Again
the low voice trembled dangerously, but she went on: "Don't
commiserate with me, kind-hearted little woman.
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