Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he became aware that Hugh was looking at him with peculiar intentness.
'I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby.'
'You can,' replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing stern.
'What is it?'
'Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind.'
Hugh's voice, though still cautious, had risen a little; he spoke with severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met.
'What ugly thought?'
'Don't be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It's a queer-sounding tale, and you're not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there's something behind it. But I tell you there isn't—or nothing that concerns me.' He paused for an instant. 'I shouldn't have dared to tell it, but for my wife. Yes, my wife,' he repeated vehemently. 'It was Sibyl forced me to tell the truth. Rather than have her mixed up in such a thing as this, I would have told any lie, at whatever cost to myself; but she wouldn't let me. And she was right; I see now that she was, though it a been hard enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be saying—damn them! Don't you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and innocent as any woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe that; and it's the one thing, the only thing, you can do for me.'
His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate words. Moved, though not to conviction, Harvey made the only possible reply.
'I believe you; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what you say.'