He rose and went to the window, as if ashamed of the emotion he could not command.  Nancy, too much occupied with her own troubles to ask or care whether his distress was genuine, laid Tarrant’s letter upon a side-table, and began to draw off her gloves.  Then she unbuttoned her jacket.  These out-of-door garments oppressed her.  Samuel turned his head and came slowly back.

’There are things that might be said, but I will not say them.  Most men in my position would yield to the temptation of revenge.  But for many years I have kept in view a moral ideal, and now I have the satisfaction of conquering my lower self.  You shall not hear one word of reproach from my lips.’

He waited for the reply, the expected murmur of gratitude.  Nancy said nothing.

’Mrs. Tarrant,’—­he stood before her,—­’what do you suppose must be the result of this?’

‘There can only be one.’

’You mean the ruin of your prospects.  But do you forget that all the money you have received since Mr. Lord’s death has been obtained by false pretences?  Are you not aware that this is a criminal offence?’

Nancy raised her eyes and looked steadily at him.

‘Then I must bear the punishment.’

For a minute Barmby enjoyed her suffering.  Of his foreseen effects, this one had come nearest to succeeding.  But he was not satisfied; he hoped she would beseech his clemency.

’The punishment might be very serious.  I really can’t say what view my father may take of this deception.’

’Is there any use in talking about it?  I am penniless—­that’s all you have to tell me.  What else I have to bear, I shall know soon enough.’

’One thing I must ask.  Isn’t your husband in a position to support you?’

‘I can’t answer that.  Please to say nothing about my husband.’

Barmby caught at hope.  It might be true, as Jessica Morgan believed, that Nancy was forsaken.  The man Tarrant might be wealthy enough to disregard her prospects.  In that case an assiduous lover, one who, by the exercise of a prudent generosity, had obtained power over the girl, could yet hope for reward.  Samuel had as little of the villain in his composition as any Camberwell householder.  He cherished no dark designs.  But, after the manner of his kind, he was in love with Nancy, and even the long pursuit of a lofty ideal does not render a man proof against the elementary forces of human nature.

‘We will suppose then,’ he said, with a certain cheerfulness, ’that you have nothing whatever to depend upon but your father’s will.  What is before you?  How can you live?’

‘That is my own affair.’

It was not said offensively, but in a tone of bitter resignation.  Barmby sat down opposite to her, and leaned forward.

’Do you think for one moment,’—­his voice was softly melodious,—­ ’that I—­I who have loved you for years—­could let you suffer for want of money?’