To Huntington this seemed almost incredible. He was heartily sick of the warfare, and glad of any way out of it that would not be too humiliating to himself. But Haig was coming to him; and this meant, surely, that something had occurred to his enemy that would make the event easy for himself, if not quite free from embarrassment. He looked again at Marion; and at last, seeing her radiant countenance, he understood that this was her achievement, that it was for her Haig would be coming unarmed to the house of his bitter foe that afternoon.
“I’m ready,” he said to Thursby, with an elation he was only partly able to conceal.
Smythe was the next visitor, arriving in a state of such contrition that Marion pitied him. His jaunty air was gone. He was quite unable to respond to Marion’s gentle jesting, seeing that her cheeks were still sunken and pale, that the body whose graces he had so much admired was now palpably thin under her loose clothing. He had blamed himself bitterly for the disaster that had overtaken her, and his sufferings had been real and lasting.
“If I’d been half a man I’d never have let you go on alone that day,” he said after she had greeted him brightly, giving him both her hands.
“Oh, indeed!” retorted Marion. “And what would you have done?”
“Gone with you.”
“But I sent you back.”
“I was a fool!”
“A fool to do as I told you, Mr. Smythe?” she demanded archly.