“How can people judge except by appearances?” Muriel argued. “Besides, do you divide everybody you know into those two classes?”
He looked hard at her and, to her annoyance, she grew confused.
“No,” he said slowly; “that would be very wrong—I was too quick. There are a few with generous minds who haven’t turned against me and I’m very grateful.”
“It might have been enough if you had said they had sense; but don’t you feel you owe them something? Is it fair to keep silence and do nothing while they fight your battle?”
“Are there people who are doing so?”
“Yes,” Muriel answered steadily. “You oughtn’t to doubt it. You’re wronging your friends.”
His expression betokened a strong effort at self-control.
“Well,” he said, “it seems I have a duty to them, but how I’m to get about it is more than I know.”
“Have you thought of telling the police about your journey to British Columbia and what you learned about Cyril Jernyngham?”
“I’m afraid they wouldn’t believe me. Then there’s the trouble that the man I followed called himself Kermode.”