“I had urged you to speak, had I not?”
“Grant that. But I don’t stand excused.”
“There was no questioning the sincerity of your last expression that night, in any case,” she said. “But I’ve not been indignant because of what you exclaimed or because you hate the Sorensons. ‘Hate’ isn’t too strong a word, is it? I’m none the less interested however to know what it’s all about. You see I don’t take any stock in the reasons commonly given: that you’re a ‘bad man,’ an agent of a rich corporation trying to put our people out of business, a public menace and all the rest.”
“Is that what they say?” Weir asked, with a laugh.
“Part of it. Nor does it fool father, for he said only yesterday that there’s something more at bottom of the feeling against you than merely a fight of moneyed interests. He knows from what I told him that that dead man tried to murder you; yet he hears constant 92 talk of your ‘crime,’ of evidence being gathered against you by the county attorney, Mr. Lucerio, and of the penalty you shall pay. All absurd, to be sure.”
“Mr. Martinez tells me the same,” Steele responded. “But he says also that all the people do not believe the stories.”
“That’s true.” And she appeared to reflect upon the circumstance.
To Weir nothing could be stranger than this talk on the dark road with the girl who, too, should be naturally opposed to him. In fact, here at this very spot and at their first meeting she had announced herself as a critic and an enemy. He could smile over that now; she herself probably did smile at the recollection. Yet she was calmly discussing his situation without animus or even unfriendliness.
How could that be possible if she actually loved the man whom she expected to marry, Ed Sorenson? Why did she not at once spring to arms in defense of the Sorenson side? Unless––unless she suspected the baseness of her lover and his father, and fear had replaced love.
All at once she spoke.