“I should think you could tell him that yourself,” he suggested, at last.

“It wouldn’t be the same thing.  You’re the only person who could speak with authority.  He’d accept your word, if you gave it—­in a certain way.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that way is.”

“Oh yes, you do, Bienville!” she exclaimed, pleadingly, leaning forward slightly, with her hands clasped in her lap.  “Don’t force me to speak more plainly than I need.  You must know what I refer to.”

He shook his head slowly, with a look of mystification.

“What you may not know,” she continued, “is all it means to me.  I won’t put the matter on any ground but that of my need for earning money.  Because Mr. Pruyn has—­misunderstood you, I’ve had to give up my—­my—­place”—­she forced the last word with a little difficulty—­“and until something like a good name is restored to me I shall find it hard to get another.  You can have no idea of what that means.  I had none, until I had to face it.  There’s only one kind of work I’m fitted for—­the kind I’ve been doing; but it’s just the kind I can’t have without the—­the reputation you could give back to me.”

That this appeal was not without its effect was evident from the way in which his expressive brown eyes clouded, while he stroked his black beard nervously.  The fact that his pity was largely for himself—­that with instincts naturally chivalrous he should be driven to these miserable verbal shifts—­being unknown to Diane, she was encouraged to proceed.

“You see,” she went on, eagerly, “it wouldn’t only bring me happiness, but it would add to your own.  You’re at the beginning of a new life, just like me—­or, rather, just as I could be if you’d give me the chance.  Think what it would be for you to enter on it, I won’t say with a clear conscience, but with the knowledge that in rising yourself you had helped an unhappy woman up, instead of thrusting her further down!  It isn’t as if it would be so hard for you, Bienville.  I’d make it easy for you.  Miss Grimston would help me.  Wouldn’t you?” she added, turning toward Marion.  “It could all be done quite simply and confidentially between ourselves—­and Mr. Pruyn.”

“Oh no, it couldn’t,” he said, coldly.  “If I were to admit what you imply, secrecy wouldn’t be of any use to me.”

“Does that mean,” she asked, fixing her earnest eyes upon him, “that you don’t admit it?”

“It means,” he said, rising quietly and standing behind his chair, “that this conversation is extremely painful to me, and I must ask to be excused from taking any further part in it.  I know only vaguely what you mean, Madame; and if I don’t inquire more in detail, it’s because I want to spare you distressing explanations.  I think you must agree with me, Mademoiselle,” he continued, looking toward Miss Grimston, “that we should all be well advised in letting the subject drop.”

Marion came slowly forward, advancing to the side of Diane, over whose shoulder, as she remained seated, she allowed her hand to fall, in a pose suggestive of protection.