“Look in your heart and answer that yourself.”
“I do look,” said Joyce, solemnly, “but I can’t read the answer.”
XIV
From Seven to Seventy
“Listen, Joyce, dear. You are nervous and excited, or you never would do Mr. Courtenay such injustice. Think back; remember how he has always loved you—long before you married Eric. How patient and good he has been, never showing any undue interest in you or any animosity toward Eric. Why, then, imagine that he would do this desperate thing?”
“That’s just it, Beatrice. He restrained his feelings as long as he could, and that night—in the Billiard Room, he—he lost control—and he said he—he c-couldn’t stand it. You know he thought Eric didn’t treat me right——”
“And Eric didn’t. But even if Mr. Courtenay did lose his head for a moment, that doesn’t mean he was the murderer, and you mustn’t suspect him, Joyce.”
“But you know what Orienta said—about a dark man with a pointed beard. Who else could it have been?”
“Other men have dark hair and beards. And Orienta couldn’t see him clearly, you know.”
“I know. And you are a comfort, Beatrice. But I never can marry Eugene if he has even a shadow of doubt hanging over him. I want him cleared.”
“Of course you do. And as he is innocent, he will clear himself.”