“I remember everything, Mayo,� she interrupted, with her lovely clear eyes meeting his, “from the mud-pie days to the generous sending of your books when mine were burned. And because I do, I have come to ask you some questions. Who was your guest three weeks ago? Where did you go, on what business, when you left home with him?�
He looked her straight in the eyes. “You ask, Agnes——�
He hesitated and she took up his words. “I ask, Mayo, about your private affairs�—her voice did not falter, but her cheeks flamed—“because people are saying things about you that I—we—want you to disprove.�
“Oh!� he said sharply. Then he dropped his voice and his eyes, and answered: “I—I can’t do it, Agnes.�
“Mayo!� she exclaimed. There was a little silence. Then she said, “Oh, Mayo!� in a tone that implored him to answer.
He looked away. “If you were asking me for yourself, Agnes,� he said, “I—I ought not, but I might—probably I should—tell you.�
“I do not ask for myself,� she said. “I trust you utterly. If there were one little doubt in the thought of my heart, I could not come to you with this question.�
“A question I must leave unanswered,� he said with a wry smile.
“Oh, no, Mayo!� she said. “You know I don’t wish to force your confidence, but it seems to me that when people ask—how dare they ask!—we have no right to refuse to prove our loyalty.�
“Are they asking Giles Spotswood or Will Blair to prove theirs?� he inquired a little bitterly.