"You mean—?"
"I mean—you'll excuse me; I speak quite bluntly—I mean that he seemed very willing to believe anything that could tell against you, but less eager to credit what was said in your defence."
"You think so because you don't understand him. As a matter of fact—"
"Oh, I dare say. I don't pretend to understand the gentleman in question. But for that very reason it would be useless for me to try to enlighten him further. It would only make matters worse."
"It wouldn't if you'd put things before him just as they happened. I don't want any excuses made for me. My best defence would be—the truth."
There was a perceptible pause, during which his eyes shifted uneasily toward Marion Grimston.
"I should think you could tell him that yourself," he suggested, at last.
"It wouldn't be the same thing. You're the only person who could speak with authority. He'd accept your word, if you gave it—in a certain way."
"I'm afraid I don't know what that way is."
"Oh yes, you do, Bienville!" she exclaimed, pleadingly, leaning forward slightly, with her hands clasped in her lap. "Don't force me to speak more plainly than I need. You must know what I refer to."