“One can come to a conclusion about a man or woman in even a shorter time.”
“Of course! In a good deal less. In one fateful moment—some folks believe!”
Appleby saw the little mocking smile fade from the girl’s lips and something he could not quite fathom in her eyes, though it in a fashion suggested comprehension and sympathy. If he was right, Miss Harding’s penetration appeared astonishing. He would not, however, betray himself, and his voice was even when he said, “You have not shown me yet where I was mistaken.”
“In trying to bring folks together who were best apart; and when you thought she was fond of him you were wrong.”
“No,” said Appleby doggedly.
Nettie laughed in a curious fashion. “She does not know your friend as you do, for you gave him away by the excuses you made for him. The girl you have pictured to me could never be fond of that kind of man. She is in love with the man she thinks he is. You can appreciate the difference, but she will find him out sooner or later.”
Appleby started. “No,” he said. “I think he will tell her, and she will forgive him; though he did nothing very wrong.”
“That man will never tell her—or speak a word to clear you. Still, I think you can do without friends of that kind. You have good ones in this country.”
Appleby was glad that he was relieved of the necessity of answering, because the banker’s wife waddled out, clad in black from heel to crown—for she wore a lace mantilla there—with powdered face, into the veranda; and since the camaraderie that existed between him and the girl was not likely to be understood or appreciated by a lady of Castilian extraction he went away. He also wanted to think, and descending to a nook of the patio where there was a seat lighted a cigar.
If Miss Harding was right, and he had seen already that she was a young woman of singular penetration, he had made his sacrifice—which had, however, not cost him very much—in vain; but what disconcerted him was the fact that she had forced the truth he had strenuously striven to close his eyes to upon him. Still, even that, he told himself, did not count for very much just then. Even if she did not love Tony, Violet Wayne was patrician to her finger tips and he an outcast adventurer. That was a very convincing reason why he should think no more of her, and yet even then her face rose up before his fancy and would not be driven away. It was almost a relief when he heard a step behind him, and turning sharply saw a little olive-faced officer in tight green uniform smiling at him.