Marta noted that, though he gave the news a casual turn, his scrutiny sharpened.
"Is that so? I can't say that my mother and I shall be sorry," she remarked. "He was always glaring at us as if he wished us out of his sight. Indeed, if he had his way, I think he would have made us prisoners of war. Wasn't he a woman-hater?" she concluded, half in irritation, half in amusement.
"He had that reputation," said Westerling. "What do you think led to his departure?" he continued.
"I confess I cannot guess!" said Marta, with a look at the sunset glow as if she resented the loss of a minute of it.
"There has been a leak of information to the Browns!" he announced.
"There has! And he was intelligence officer, wasn't he?" she asked, turning to Westerling, her curiosity apparently roused as a matter of courtesy to his own interest in the subject.
"Who do you think he accused? Why, you," he added, with a peculiar laugh.
She noted the peculiarity of the laugh discriminatingly.
"Oh!" Her eyes opened wide in wonder—only wonder, at first. Then, as comprehension took the place of wonder, they grew sympathetic. "That explains!" she exclaimed. "His hateful glances were those of delusion. He was going mad, you mean?"
"Yes," said Westerling, "that—that would explain it!"