"But I wasn't," she quickly retorted.
"Certainly," he drily agreed with her. "Very stupid of me to suggest it."
She stepped around in front of him, saying frankly:
"I give you my word of honor that I did not dream anyone would come there, nor is there a man—"
"This isn't necessary," he smiled. "I quite agree with you; and it was nothing that could have touched you at all closely."
She flushed, then turned and started slowly on, saying in a tremulous whisper:
"Very well, you needn't believe me." But just before reaching the house she again turned and faced him. "It hurts, Brent," she faltered, "to know you are thinking unkind things of me! Your own worldliness makes you utterly unsparing!"
"I would rather not have you persist in this," he said gently. "It seems to be one of those cases where you can't tell the truth, so why should you go to the other extreme unnecessarily? I'm not asking you 'what is the matter?' or if you found your cigarettes! Please dismiss it! If you want Dale to meet you in that charmed circle, I'm sure it's a harmless pastime."
She wheeled and left him, quickly running up the steps and into the house; but an echo of the pleading in her voice remained, and now gently pushed aside his ill humor which, in turn, was succeeded by a feeling of joyous relief;—because, hidden in the rhododendron thicket, a girl had whispered for him to have no fear—that Tom Hewlet would not threaten his peace again. In his surprise he had caught her arm and asked why she had come, but she drew back, whispering: "That blind girl! And, Brent, take this!" What had she meant again by the blind girl? And why had she thrust into his hand the little garnet pendant he had given her?
For another minute he pondered over the strange complexity of girls, then sighed and smiled, and by a side door reached his room.