“You must do this as a matter of self-protection, and in the interests of your greatest welfare.”
And I stopped.
She seemed to be thinking over what I said. In the end she observed: “This seems reasonable. I feel sure that wherever I came from such advice would have fitted.
“However”—smiling at me in a manner to which I can give no description other than affectionate—“I have no doubts about you, Hobart. I know you are absolutely all right.”
And before I could recover from the bliss into which her statement threw me, she turned to Charlotte with “You too, Charlotte; I know I can trust you.”
But when she looked at Jerome she commented: “I can trust you, Mister, too; almost as much, but not quite. If you didn't suspect me I could trust you completely.”
Jerome went white. He spoke for the first time since the girl's coming.
“How—how did you know that I suspected you?”
“I can't explain; I don't know myself.” Then wistfully: “I wish you would stop suspecting me, Mister. I have nothing to conceal from you.”
“I know it!” Jerome burst out, excitedly, apologetically. “I know it now! You're all right, I'm satisfied of that from now on!”