“Not by taking my part—not by speaking about this?”
“Why not?”
“As the cloud came so let it go,” cried Geoffrey. “The poor girl is silent about her lover, but the truth will come out of itself. Till then I am content to wait, and let the world have its say.”
“But he must marry her—poor girl!”
“No!” said Geoffrey, sternly. “No! Better let her bear her lot, hard as it may be. The man who could forsake her in her greatest need would never make her a husband worthy of her love. She must accept her fate.”
“But you, Geoffrey Trethick. It is unmanly not to clear your fame.”
“Maybe,” he said, bitterly; “but I don’t think I am like other men. I shall wait until Time shall bleach it once more white.”
“But why not leave your lodgings?” said the vicar. “Take apartments elsewhere.”
“What, make a cowardly retreat?” cried Geoffrey.
“But the world. It was an unfortunate thing for you to do. Why did you go there?”