Brant went dizzy with mingled joy and self-reproach. Then it was a hideous mistake, after all, and Mrs. Langford had kept her own counsel. It was almost beyond belief, and he stammered helplessly in his acknowledgments:
“I—I haven’t been anywhere—that is, I’ve been here—no, not just here, either——”
Dorothy’s laugh rang sweet and joyous, and it outran her words in restoring his self-possession.
“It’s the atmosphere of the place, you know,” she said archly. “People come here to confess their sins, and polite excuses are not allowed. Have you come to confession, Mr. Brant?”
Her jesting question went near enough to the truth to make him wince.
“Ye—yes; something of that sort. I came to have a little talk with Mr.—Mr.——”
“Crosswell?” she suggested. “So did I. Won’t you sit down and wait for him? He will be in before very long, I think.”
Brant did as he was bidden, and thus having the opportunity for free speech which he would have been willing to buy at a price, went dumb and could do no more than tie idle knots in his watch chain. Dorothy read the questions in his eyes, but she mistook their pointing, and wondered how she could help matters along without betraying Isabel. Much to her relief, he opened the way by breaking ground in the direction of things serious.
“The last time we met you were in trouble,” he began. “I hope the cause has been removed.”
“It has,” she assented; “and—and I have wanted so much to thank you. It was very, very good of you to help us.”