"Oh!" She put up her hands to her face for a moment as if to
shield herself from a blow. "He--drinks, does he?"

"He does everything he ought not to do, except steal," said Ranger
bluntly. "I've tried to keep him straight--tried every way. I
can't. It isn't to be done."

Sylvia's hands fell again. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "perhaps I
could."

The man started as if he had been shot. "You!" he said.

She met his look with her wide eyes. "But why not?" she said. "We
love each other."

He turned from her, grinding the floor with his heel. "God help me
to make myself intelligible!" he said.

It was the most forcible prayer she had ever heard. It struck
through to her very soul. She stood motionless, but she felt
crushed and numb.

Ranger walked to the end of the room and then came straight back to
her.

"Look here!" he said. "This is the most damnable thing I've ever
had to do. Let's get it over! He's a rotter and a blackguard.
Can you grasp that? He hasn't lived a clean life all these years
he's been away from you. He went wrong almost at the outset. He's
the sort that always does go wrong. I've done my best for him.