"In some ways."
"And with the death of Colonel Hall?"
"What do you know of that?" asked Paslow, amazed.
"Very little; but Mrs. Snow hinted----"
"That woman! She'll make mischief if she can. Don't trust her. She hates you, Beatrice."
"Why should she? I hardly know her."
"But she knows you--that is, she knows of you. To explain what it all means would be to tell you much that I would rather you did not know--that you must never know."
"I am not a child----"
"You are the woman I love, and therefore I shall not allow your mind to be tainted with--with--with what I could tell you," he ended rather weakly.
Beatrice reflected for a few minutes. Apparently Vivian was in some trouble connected with other people; possibly--as she guessed--with those scoundrels who surrounded Alpenny, and of whom Durban had talked. For some reason, which she could not guess, he was trying to keep from her things which were vile and evil. She could not think how a young country squire could be involved in Alpenny's rogueries--which it seemed he was. And then his--but she gave up trying to solve the problem on such evidence as was before her. It only remained that she should use her own eyes, her own intelligence, and maybe, sooner or later, she would arrive at an understanding of things. Then, perhaps, she would be enabled to remove this barrier which stood between them. Strange though Paslow's conduct was, and open to dire suspicion, she still loved him, and knew in her heart of hearts that she would love him until he died. This being the case, she made up her mind with the swiftness of a woman who is fighting for what she loves best, and looked at him searchingly. He was watching her with anxious eyes, but shifted his gaze to the ground when she looked at him.