“Of course. But could you give me a few details?”
Eliza could and did—with amplifications.
“Now, what do you say, Colonel Monk?” she asked triumphantly.
“I say that I think you have made an awkward mistake, Miss Layard. It seems to me that all you saw is quite consistent with the theory that he was buttoning or arranging the young lady’s hood. I understand that the wind was very high that night.”
Eliza started; this was a new and unpleasant interpretation which she hastened to repudiate. “Arranging her hood, indeed——”
“When he might have been kissing her? You cannot understand such moderation. Still, it is possible, and he ought to have the benefit of the doubt. Witnesses to character would be valuable in such a case, and his—not to mention the lady’s—is curiously immaculate.”
“Of course you are entitled to your own opinion, but I have mine.”
Suddenly the Colonel changed his bantering, satirical tone, and became stern and withering.
“Miss Layard,” he said, “does it occur to you that on evidence which would not suffice to convict a bicyclist of riding on a footpath, you are circulating a scandal of which the issue might be very grave to both the parties concerned?”
“I am not circulating anything. I was telling you privately;” replied Eliza, still trying to be bold.