“I’ll tell you all about it, and you shall judge whether I could speak. I was in love with Lady Sarah, as you know, of course. I was rash enough, foolish enough, to leave the Mill-house, where I was staying with Sir Robert, who was then my guardian, and to go to the Priory, late at night, to see her for a few minutes, she inside and I outside the library window. Langton, the butler, knew of this; he had caught me at it before. He lay in wait for me, and when I let myself in by the drawing-room window, which I had left unfastened, I found him inside. He insulted me; I was hot-tempered then, and I knocked him down. I didn’t mean to hurt him seriously, of course. That’s the truth.”
“It’s not all the truth,” said Rhoda. “His hand was cut—and so was yours. You must have used a knife.”
“He struck at me with one, and I had to defend myself,” said Jack.
“Why didn’t you tell the whole story, if you had no intention of killing him?”
“How could I? I should have had to drag Lady Sarah’s name into the business, and Sir Robert would not have married her. There was no harm in our little tête-à-têtes, but still it would not have done to own to them. Now would it?”
“I suppose not,” said Rhoda slowly. “But it was shocking that you should have begun so soon to deceive Sir Robert. It was dreadful, terrible.”
“Do you think it would serve any useful purpose to let him know all the truth now?”
“It may be necessary,” said Rhoda boldly.
“And you really mean to do it?”
“I would only do it if Lady Sarah were to deceive her husband again.”