“You mean your father?” asked Ralston. “Don’t you?”
Katharine was silent. She gave no sign of assent or dissent, but looked straight into John’s eyes.
“Of course you do!” he exclaimed. “He was in the bank the day before yesterday. Don’t you know? I told you I saw him. And he was alone with Mr. Beman in his room. I say—Katharine—if it is, you know—”
He did not complete the sentence, but his lower jaw went out viciously as his lips closed. Not knowing all that had passed between Katharine and her father, he had not suspected the latter at first. It was only when he remembered that he had told Katharine of his appearance at the bank, which she must remember, that he understood what she meant.
“I’m not sure, Jack,” she said. “Don’t imagine that I’m sure.”
“All right—I’ll ask Mr. Beman—”
“Don’t!” cried Katharine, in sudden anxiety.
“Why not? He’s got no right to conceal the name of a man who libels me. I shall tell him that I wish to be confronted with his informant, and that as a gentleman he’s bound to give me the chance of justifying myself. Of course he’ll say that he can’t send for Mr. Lauderdale to discuss a clerk’s character. Then I think I’ll take Ham Bright with me and go round to the Trust Company. It won’t take a quarter of an hour.”
“Of course you have a right to, Jack,” said Katharine. “Only, I hope you won’t do that. I’m not cowardly, you know, am I? But if you knew what it meant to live in a permanent tempest—”
“Has he been tormenting you again?” asked Ralston, quickly, and forgetting his own troubles at the mention of hers.