“And I’m sure of it, too,” Elma answered, with the instinctive certainty of feminine conviction. “But still I know, for all that, he did it. Perhaps it was all done in a moment of haste. But at least he did it. And nothing on earth that anybody could say will ever make me believe he didn’t.”
When Mrs. Clifford came back to the hotel an hour later, she scanned her daughter’s face with a keen glance of inquiry.
“Well, he says he won’t ask you again,” she murmured, laying Elma’s head on her shoulder, “till this case is cleared up, and Guy is proved innocent.”
“Yes,” Elma answered, nestling close and looking red as a rose. “He knows very well Guy didn’t do it, but he wants all the rest of the world to acknowledge it also.”
“And YOU know who did it?” Mrs. Clifford said, with a tentative air.
“Yes, mother. Do you?”
“Of course I do, darling. But it’ll never be proved against HIM, you may be sure. I saw it at a glance. It’s Mr. Gilbert Gildersleeve.”