“I will believe you did it if you tell me so, of course,” said Olivia quietly.
“And what then?”
“What then? I shall be sorry again, and puzzled.”
“And you will withdraw all those pretty professions of friendship?”
Olivia debated with herself for a few moments only. Then she answered, vehemently, in a strong voice—
“No. You were my friend—a very good friend too—before I heard anything against you. You were good to us, as I hear you are good to everybody. When you met that man in the churchyard just now, you spoke like a brave man, and not like a coward. I hear from every one about the noble, self-denying life you lead. If you didn’t do it you are almost a martyr; if—if you did, you are expiating what you did in a manner which justifies our respect. Now if you call these women’s reasons, I don’t care; they are good enough for me, Mr. Brander.”
“And for me, too, Miss Denison. I——”
He tried to keep his voice under proper command. But educated to self-control by long years as he was, he gave way under the unexpected rush of warm and generous feeling. A choking in his throat checked his utterance; his keen eyes grew moist and dim. He saw, as in a mist, a hand held out to him, and seizing it, he wrung it in a pressure which made Olivia wince.
“Look here,” he said at last, in a voice still husky, while he continued to hold her fingers in a strong nervous clasp; “I have nothing to say to you; no confession, no explanation, nothing. But you are a grand girl—a grand girl.”
He released her hand suddenly, as if with an effort, and then at once struggled into his usual manner.