"Brenda!" interrupted he, turning on her, "I could give you an explanation of that which would amaze you; but I will rest content with saying that the scrap you refer to was not torn off the scarf I wore. I burnt the scarf after I had had it on once, because I thought--well, because I thought it was foolish of me."
"Father, I am certain you are not speaking openly."
"No, I am not. If I did, you would at once see that you were wrong in suspecting me of this crime. I am not guilty of it."
"No, I don't think you are," said Brenda; "but you are shielding some one."
"Perhaps I am," replied he, smiling sourly; "but not the stranger you have invented--he does not exist." He paused, and then asked abruptly, "Has Burton mentioned this matter to any one?"
"Only to me. For your sake he keeps silent."
"Oh!" Scarse smiled sourly again. "I suppose he thinks he'll force me into consenting to your engagement that way. But he won't. You shall marry Van Zwieten."
Brenda rose and drew her cloak around her. "I have told you I will marry no one but Harold," she said coldly. "There is no need to discuss the matter further. My cab is waiting, so I'll drive on to Aunt Judy's."
"With your mind somewhat more at rest, I trust," said he, as she unfastened the door.
"Yes, so far as you personally are concerned. But you know who murdered that man, and you are shielding him."