The question surprised me.
“Of course I do. Harry Lucas.”
He did not answer, and something in the quality of his silence struck me as peculiar.
“Anne, do you remember that, as we drove home from the Matoppos that day, I told you that I knew what I had to do?”
“Of course I remember.”
“I think that I may fairly say I have done it. The man you love is cleared of suspicion.”
“Was that what you meant?”
“Of course.”
I hung my head, ashamed of the baseless suspicion I had entertained. He spoke again in a thoughtful voice:
“When I was a mere youngster, I was in love with a girl who jilted me. After that I thought only of my work. My career meant everything to me. Then I met you, Anne—and all that seemed worth nothing. But youth’s call to youth. . . . I’ve still got my work.”