She stopped and glanced at him with a little smile. "From what I remember of your views, you would no doubt be inclined to agree with them."
Ingleby laughed, though it was pleasant to be told that she remembered anything he had said. "I really fancy I have learned a little sense in Canada, and I am not going to inflict my crude notions upon you again. Still, there is a question I should like to ask. Did Mr. Esmond of Holtcar—recover?"
Grace noticed the sudden intentness of his tone, and looked at him curiously. "Of course. In fact, he got better in a week or two, and I think behaved very generously. The police could not induce him to give them any information about the men who injured him."
Ingleby started, and the girl saw the relief in his face.
"I wonder," he said, "if you ever heard who they were supposed to be?"
Grace turned a trifle and gazed at him steadily, though there was now a little flash in her eyes.
"You," she said, with incisive coldness, "were one of them?"
Ingleby grew hot beneath her gaze, for he felt that all the pride and prejudices of her station were arrayed against him. "You will remember the form of my question. I was supposed to be one of them—but that was all," he said.
Grace's face softened, and she glanced at her companions, who, after waiting a little while, were just leaving the shed. "Of course," she said, "I should have known it was absurd to fancy that you could do anything of that kind."
"I am afraid I have kept you," said Ingleby. "Perhaps I should not have abused your kindness by letting you stop at all, but the desire to see you was too strong for me. I wonder whether even you would have dared to do as much had it been in England?"