He saw that her eyes were wet, and her emotion increasing.
He nodded in sympathy.
He thought:
"She'll want some handling,--I can see that!"
He too, as well as she, imaginatively comprehended the dreadful tragedy of George Cannon's false imprisonment. He had heart enough to be very glad that the innocent man (innocent at any rate of that one thing) was to be released. But at the same time he could not stifle a base foreboding and regret. Looking at his wife, he feared the moment when George Cannon, with all the enormous prestige of a victim in a woman's eyes, should be at large. Yes, the lover in him would have preferred George Cannon to be incarcerated forever. Had he not heard, had he not read, had he not seen on the stage, that a woman never forgets the first man? Nonsense, all that! Invented theatrical psychology! And yet--if it was true! ... Look at her eyes!
"I suppose he is innocent?" he said gruffly, for he mistrusted, or affected to mistrust, the doings of these two women together,--Cannon's wife and Cannon's victim. Might they not somehow have been hoodwinked? He knew nothing, no useful detail, naught that was convincing--and he never would know! Was it not astounding that the bigamist should have both these women on his side, either working for him, or weeping over his woes?
"He must be innocent," Hilda answered, thoughtfully, in a breaking voice.
"Where is he now,--up yon?"
He indicated the unvisited heights of Dartmoor.
"I believe so."