"Nothing of the kind." He looked up frankly. "I saw no reason for speaking. She accuses herself without a shadow of reason; it's mere hysterical conscientiousness. We have known each other for half a year or so, and I have made love to her, but I never had the least encouragement. I knew all along she didn't care for me. How is she to blame? A girl is under no obligation to speak of all the men who have wanted to marry her, provided she has done nothing to be ashamed of. There's just one bit of insincerity. It's true she knew of you from me. But she looked you up because she despaired of finding employment; she was at an end of her money, didn't know what to do. I have heard this since I saw you last. It wasn't quite straightforward, but one can forgive it in a girl hard driven by necessity."
Narramore was listening with eagerness, his lips parted, and a growing hope in his eyes.
"There never was anything serious between you?"
"On her side, never for a moment. I pursued and pestered her, that was all."
"Do you mind telling me who the girl was that I saw you with at Dudley?"
"A friend of Miss Madeley's, over here from London on a holiday. I have tried to make use of her—to get her influence on my side——"
Narramore sprang from the corner of the table on which he had been sitting.
"Why couldn't she hold her tongue! That's just like a woman, to keep a thing quiet when she ought to speak of it, and bring it out when she had far better say nothing. I feel as if I had treated you badly, Hilliard. And the way you take it—I'd rather you eased your mind by swearing at me."
"I could swear hard enough. I could grip you by the throat and jump on you——"
"No, I'm hanged if you could!" He forced a laugh. "And I shouldn't advise you to try. Here, give me your hand instead." He seized it. "We're going to talk this over like two reasonable beings. Does this girl know her own mind? It seems to me from this letter that she wants to get rid of me."