And she spoke the truth; indeed, a truism; but she would be still more miserable if she married him. She would never marry a man——the haunting sentence went for once unfinished. Theodore was favouring her with a peculiar scrutiny whose import she knew of old. She was on her guard just in time.
"You haven't heard the latest development, I suppose?"
"Has there been something fresh since I came away?"
And even Theodore did not know that she was holding her breath.
"Something as fresh as paint," said he dryly. "Rigden thinks he's got on the fellow's tracks."
Moya had braced herself against any sudden betrayal of alarm; she was less proof against the inrush of a new contempt for her lover.
"You don't mean it!" she cried with indignation.
"Why not?" asked Theodore blandly.
"Oh, nothing. Only it's pretty disgraceful—on the part of the police, I mean—that they should spend hours looking for what a mere amateur finds at once!"
The brother peeped at her from lowered lids. He was admiring her resource.