"It is," said Edwin, and added carefully, tenderly: "I suppose he is innocent."
She might have flown at him: "That's just like you--to assume he isn't!" But she replied:
"I'm quite sure of it. I say--I want you to read all the letters I've had from Mrs. Cannon. I've got them here. They're in my bag there. Read them now. Of course I always meant to show them to you."
"All right," he agreed, drew a chair to the dressing-table where the bag was, found the letters, and read them. She waited, as he read one letter, put it down, read another, laid it precisely upon the first one, with his terrible exactitude and orderliness, and so on through the whole packet.
"Yes," said he at the end, "I should say he's innocent this time, right enough."
"But something ought to be done!" she cried. "Don't you think something ought to be done, Edwin?"
"Something has been done. Something is being done."
"But something else!"
He got up and walked about the room.
"There's only one thing to be done," he said.