“If you can’t,” said he, “of course there’s no more to be said.”  He said it very simply, as if he were not in the least offended, and she looked at him again.

No.  There was no wounded dignity about him, there was the tragic irremediable misery of a man condemned unheard.  And could that be her doing—­Lucia’s?  She who used to be so kind and just?  Never in all her life had she condemned anybody unheard.

But she had to choose between this man who a month ago was an utter stranger to her, and Horace who was of her own blood, her own class, her own life.  Did she really want Mr. Rickman to be tainted that Horace might be clean?  And she knew he trusted her; he had made his appeal to the spirit that had once divined him.  He might well say, “could she not imagine what he thought of it?”

“Yes,” she said gently, “I think I can.  If you had not told me what the library was worth, of course I should have thought your father very generous in giving as much for it as he has done.”

“I did tell you I was anxious he—­we—­should not buy it; because I knew we couldn’t give you a proper price.”

“Yes, you told me.  And I wanted you to buy it, because I thought you would do your best for me.”

“I know.  I know.  If it wasn’t for that—­but that’s the horrible part of it.”

“Why?  You did your best, did you not?”

“Yes.  I really thought it would be all right if I went up and saw him.  I felt certain he would see it as I did—­”

“Well?”

He answered with painful hesitation.  “Well—­he didn’t see it.  My father hasn’t very much imagination—­he couldn’t realize the thing in the same way, because he wasn’t in it as I was.  He’d seen nobody but Pilkington, you see.”

Something in her face told him that this line of defence was distasteful to her, that he had no right to make a personal matter of an abstract question of justice.  It was through those personalities that he had always erred.

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” she said.

“He—­he thought it was only a question of a bargain between Pilkington and him.”

“What you mean is that he wouldn’t admit that I came into it at all?”

She saw that she was putting him to the torture.  He could not defend himself without exposing his father; but she meant that he should defend himself, that he should if possible stand clear.

“Yes.  He hadn’t seen you.  He wouldn’t go back on his bargain, and I couldn’t make him.  God knows I tried hard enough!

“Did you think you could do anything by trying?”

“I thought I could do a good deal.  I had a hold on him, you see.  I happen to be extremely useful to him in this branch of his business.  I was trained for it; in fact, I’m hopelessly mixed up with it.  Well, he can’t do very much without me, and I told him that if he didn’t give up the library I should give him up.  It wasn’t a nice thing to have to say to your father—­”