“But, Harry, I laugh at Aunt Marguerite’s follies about descent and our degradation; but it is your duty to make a stand for our father’s sake. Who has dared to accuse you of all this?”
“Don’t talk to me,” he said in an angry whisper, as he ran to the window and listened, crossing the room directly after to try the door.
Louise gazed at him in a horrified way, and her heart sank down, down, as her brother’s acts suggested the possibility of his guilt. Then, like a flash of light, a thought irradiated her darkening soul, and she caught her brother’s arm.
“I know!” she cried.
“You—you know?”
“Yes, I see it all now; and why this charge has been made. It was Mr Pradelle.”
“Pradelle!”
“And that is why he left so suddenly. Harry, my poor brother!”
“Let Pradelle be,” he said huskily. “I’m not going to hide behind another man.”
“Oh! But, Harry!”