“No,” said Mrs. Acton, with a smile, “he did not. That was, I think, what made me more sure of it. James Acton can maintain a judicious silence when it appears advisable, and there are signs that he rather likes you.”
Nasmyth bowed. “I should be very pleased to hear that you shared his views in this respect,” he observed.
“I am, in the meanwhile, somewhat naturally rather uncertain upon the point,” she returned.
“Well,” confessed Nasmyth humbly, “I believe I am largely responsible for your guest’s sudden disappearance. It was, of course, almost inexcusable, and I could not complain if you were very angry with me.”
“I should, at least, like to know exactly what you did.”
“That,” said Nasmyth, “is a thing I would sooner you did not urge me to explain. After all, I feel I have done Martial sufficient injury, and I do not think he would like you to know. There are,” he added somewhat diffidently, “one or two other reasons why I should prefer not to say anything further, but I would like to assure you that the explanation one of your friends suggested is not the correct one. I ventured to make this, at least, clear to Miss Hamilton.”
Mrs. Acton regarded him with a suggestive smile. “Mr. Martial was not effusively pleasant to you. The affair was premeditated?”
“My one excuse is that the thing was done on the spur of the moment. I should never have undertaken it if I had reflected.” Nasmyth made a gesture of submission. “I am in your hands.”
Mrs. Acton sat silent for perhaps a minute gazing at the woods that swept round three sides of the little bay. Great cedars and pines and hemlocks rolled down to the water’s edge, and the stretch of smooth green brine between them and the steamer flashed like a mirror.