Bella shivered. Her brother was right: it was almost beyond contemplation. But that was only half of the matter.
“He must have had a reason,” she argued harshly.
“Yes; one doesn’t ride over a man in cold-blood for nothing. I think he had some cause for being afraid of Lisle; several things I remember now point to it. His chance came suddenly—nobody could have arranged it—he only remembered that Lisle with his brains crushed out could do him no harm.”
The girl recognized that Jim had guessed correctly. When she had gone to Lisle for help, he had allowed her to understand that he could compel Gladwyne’s compliance with his request, which was significant. Still, convinced as she was, she would not openly acquiesce in her brother’s theory.
“Jim,” she protested, “if he’d ridden at the hedge or made the chestnut jump short, he might have broken his own neck. He must have realized it—it would make him hesitate.”
The lad laughed scornfully.
“It’s quite possible, but is that any excuse? Would Nasmyth or Lisle or Batley have shirked a risk that would mean the saving of the other fellow? Supposing your idea’s right—though it isn’t—it only shows the man as a disgusting coward.”
There was no gainsaying this; and Bella was crushed and humiliated. She had already seen Gladwyne’s weakness, and after the choice she had been compelled to make between him and her brother, she had tried to drive all thought of him out of her mind. It had been difficult; he was fascinating in many ways and she had set her heart upon his capture. Now she had done with him; after the morning’s revelation she shrank from him with positive horror. Jim seemed to guess this.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” he said gently. “But the fellow’s impossible.”
She laid her hand upon his arm.