They walked away silently from the kitchen door into the deep murk of a starless night.  The moaning of a rising sea upon the outer reefs was the requiem of Sheila’s hopes.  One thing, she saw clearly, she must do.  If she remained and fought for her place with the Balls, she must stand alone.  Whether or not she held her place, she must not allow Tunis to be linked with her in this situation.  As she slipped deeper and deeper into the morass, she could not cling to him and drag him as well into infamy and disgrace.

Away from the house, fully out of earshot from the kitchen, she halted.  Tunis had taken her hand in his warm, encouraging grasp.  She let it remain, but she did not return his pressure.

“Dear, this is dreadful,” he whispered, “I know.  But leave it to me.  I’ll find some way out.”

“There is no way out, Tunis,” she said confidently.

“Cat’s-foot!  Don’t say that,” he cried in exasperation.  “There is always a way out of every jam.”

“This girl will do one of two things,” said Sheila firmly.  “Either she will prove her claim, or she will give up and go back to Boston.  You know that.”

“She’ll fight hard, I guess” he admitted.

“Either way, Tunis,” the girl pursued, “there is bound to be much doubt cast upon my character—­upon me.  If the truth becomes known, I am utterly lost.  If it is hushed up, I must go on living a lie—­if I stay here.”

“Don’t talk that way!” he exclaimed gruffly.  “Of course you’ll stay here.  If not with the Balls, then with me.”

“Stop!” she begged him.  “Wait!  I am going to state the matter plainly as it is.  We can no longer dodge it.  This is the truth which we have been trying to ignore.  I have not been foolish only; I have been wicked.  And my greatest sin was in allowing you to link yourself with me so closely.”

“What do you mean?” he gasped.

“Just what I say.  It was wrong for me to allow you to be friendly with me before the Balls and other people.  I should not have gone to your house last Sunday.  I should not have allowed you to introduce me to your Aunt Lucretia.”

“Ida May!”

“That is not my name,” she whispered.  “Let there be no further mockery between you and me, Tunis.  I have been wicked; we have been wicked.  We must pay for what we have done.  There is no escaping that.  I must not keep you as my lover, Tunis.  I was wrong—­oh! so wrong—­last Sunday.  Reckless, wicked, drifting with a current, I scarcely knew where.”

“My dear girl—­”

“Now I see the rocks ahead, Tunis.  I can shut my eyes to them no longer.  Disaster is at hand.  You shall not be overwhelmed, as I may be overwhelmed at any time.  I will not have your ruin on my conscience!”

“My ruin?” he repeated.  “Ridiculous!  My dear girl, you are talking like a mad woman.  You cannot snap the tie that binds us.  You cannot shoulder all the responsibility for this situation.  The sin is as much mine as yours, if it is a sin.  I’m in it as deep as you are.”