and herself from receiving me into their household—and I put this even stronger than Léontine had done.
When I had finished she looked at me with her twisted little smile.
"Is that all, Frank?" she asked.
"Isn't it enough?" I retorted. "And isn't it all true?"
"It may be true, to some extent," she answered slowly, "but it is not enough."
"It may not be enough for you, Edith," I cried, "because you are a sort of angel on earth. But it is enough for me—and probably would be for John, if he were to look at it in this light."
"John understands," said Edith, "he is loyal to the core—and besides, he is your half-brother, and it is his duty."
"It is his duty not to sacrifice you," said I, "and mine, too. No, Edith, I won't have it. My word is passed to keep straight and I'll stick to it. But not here. I am going away."
"With this woman?" she asked.
"With or without her. What does it matter? That is not the question."
"How long do you think you would keep your word to remain honest if you were with her, Frank?" Her eyes looked steadily into mine. "No; if you go back to her, I would prefer to absolve you from your promise. It is better to be dishonest to the world, I think, than untrue to yourself. That is why I am so sure of you; because, whatever you may have done, I know that you have always been right with yourself. But you could not be so if
