Harding shook off the girl's hand and, perhaps alarmed by the look he gave her, she left him and soon afterward disappeared, but when he returned to the table Beatrice and her mother had gone. He was getting cool again, but he felt crushed, for no defense seemed possible. He could only offer a blunt denial which, in the face of appearances, could hardly be believed.
He left the hotel and spent an hour walking about the city, trying to think what he must do. When he returned a bell-boy brought him word that Mrs. Mowbray wished to see him in the drawing-room. Harding went up and found the room unoccupied except by Beatrice and her mother. The girl's face was white, but it was stern and she had her father's immovable look. Rising as he came in, she stood very straight, holding out a little box.
"This is yours," she said. "I must give it back to you. You will understand what that means."
Harding took the box, containing the ring he had given her, and steadily met her accusing eyes, though he could see no hope for him in them.
"I suppose there's no use in my saying that it's all a mistake or a wicked plot?"
"No; I'm afraid the evidence against you is too strong." She hesitated a moment, and he thought he saw some sign of relenting. "Craig," she begged, in a broken voice, "do go. I—I believed in you."
"You have no reason to doubt me now."
He turned to Mrs. Mowbray.
"Can't you be persuaded? I give you my solemn word——"
"Don't!" Beatrice interrupted. "Don't make it worse!"