"She did tell you in that wretched letter; or rather she gave you a sign to know her by. How did you dare to write to any young girl like that?"
The red flushed into his cheeks and his laughter died.
"You don't mean that she showed you my letters?"
"Oh, no; she didn't show them to me. But I know well enough what they were like. You are a pair of young dunces."
Fairfield cast down his eyes and studied his finger-nails in silence a moment. When he looked up again he spoke gravely and with a new firmness.
"Mrs. Harbinger," he said, "I hope you don't think that I meant anything wrong in answering her letters. I didn't know who wrote them."
"You must have known that they were written by a girl that was young and foolish."
"I'm afraid I didn't think much about that. I had a letter, and it interested me, and I answered it. It never occurred to me that—"
"It never occurs to a man that he is bound to protect a girl against herself," Mrs. Harbinger responded quickly. "At least now that you do know, I hope that there'll be no more of this nonsense."
Fairfield did not reply for a moment. Then he looked out over the landscape instead of meeting her eyes.