"Do you know, Mr. Earle," she said, "that you astonished me very much last night? For the matter of that"—with a slight laugh,—"I suppose you astonished everyone. But I am bold enough to express my astonishment, because I should really like to know what you meant."
"I shall be very happy to tell you," Earle answered, "if you will give me an idea what you mean."
"I mean this. Why did you vex Mr. Singleton by unnecessary contradiction, and an unnecessary avowal of what you knew would annoy if it did not seriously alienate him?"
The young man regarded her with surprise. "Simply because I had no alternative," he replied. "Nothing was further from my desire than to vex him. But why, in the name of all that is reasonable, should people be vexed by hearing the truth? Is not that what we all wish, ostensibly at least—to learn and to believe the truth about a thing, not mere fancies or ideas?"
"Ye—s," said Marion, hesitatingly. "I suppose no one would acknowledge that he did not wish to know the truth; but you are aware that nothing is more offensive than the truth to people who have strong convictions against it."
"So much the worse for such people, then."
"And so much the worse sometimes for those who persist in enforcing enlightenment upon them."
"I really do not think that is my character," he said. "I have never, to my knowledge, attempted to force enlightenment upon any one. But sometimes—as was the case last night—one must speak (even when speaking will serve no end of conviction), or be guilty of cowardice and tacit deception."
Marion shook her head, in protest, apparently, against these views; but probably she felt the uselessness of combating them. At least when she spoke again it was to say, abruptly:—
"But how on earth do you chance to take that particular view of truth?"