His candour had already come home to Rigden, and he bitterly deplored it, but there was no retreat from the transparent truth. He therefore braced himself to stand or fall by what he had said, but meanwhile to defend it to the best of his ability.
"You don't know what an interview I had in yonder," he said, jerking a hand towards the store. "And the worst of it is that I can never tell you."
"Ah!"
"God forgive me for forgetting or neglecting you for a single instant!" Rigden exclaimed. "I can only assure you that when I left you I didn't mean to be gone five minutes. You will realise that what I eventually undertook to do for this wretched man made all the difference. It did put you out of my head for the moment; but you speak as though it were going to put you out of my life for all time!"
"For the sake of a man you pretended never to have seen before," murmured Moya, deftly assuming what she burned to know.
"It was no pretence. I didn't recognise him."
"But you do now," pronounced Moya, as one stating a perceptible fact.
"Yes," said Rigden, "I recognise him—now."
There was a pause. Moya broke it softly, a suspicion of sympathy in her voice.
"I am afraid he must have some hold over you."