“For a long time we were totally in the dark. But now we know the man.”
Miss Richardia had the translucent complexion that harmonizes perfectly with cloudy blue eyes and masses of light-brown hair brightened by touches of warmer tints; hence there was no telltale pink to vanish at the command of sudden emotion. Yet Tregarvon saw she was startled, and that the exciting cause was quick-springing anxiety.
“You have seen him?” she asked.
“Rucker, the machinist, has.” Tregarvon was always making good resolutions about not talking too much, and always breaking them. It had been no part of his intention to refer to the incriminating incident in which Richardia herself figured as one of the two actors, but the inexpedient thing was said and he could only hope that Richardia would not ask for more.
She was looking away again when she said: “Now that you know, I suppose you will defend your rights?”
“Take legal steps, you mean? I don’t wish to do that, if it can be avoided.”
“No; anything but that!” she pleaded in low tones. “You must remember the provocation.”
“I didn’t give the provocation.”
“No; but you are associated, in a way, with those who did. You have inherited a legacy of ill will.”
“I might be able to understand that, if the man who is making the trouble were one of the ignorant natives. But he is not.”