'I wonder,' said the girl at length, 'how many men would have taken as much trouble as you have taken to-night for the sake of such a trifling affair as a woman's good name?'
A dull red colour slowly mounted over her white throat to her face—a painful blush of intense shame, which she was too proud to attempt to hide. The deliberation with which she spoke the words, and then held up her burning face that he might see, had he wished, was very characteristic.
Trist himself changed colour, and his firm lips opened as if he were about to reply hastily. He checked himself, however, and they sat through several painful moments without motion.
During that time their two souls merged, as it were, into a complete understanding—so entire, so perfect and faithful, that no spoken words could ever have brought its semblance into existence. He knew that his painful task was now finished, that Brenda now understood his reason for coming back to London at once. Moreover, he was aware that she had divined the cause of his sudden geniality on first arriving at the soirée, and there was no need to tell her that all London could now find out, if it pleased, that the war-correspondent, Theodore Trist, had arrived home from the East that afternoon, and was seen by many in the evening at a public place of entertainment.
But Brenda was not content with divination of motives. It was her evil habit to proceed to analysis, and in this pastime she made a mistake. Trist's motive in running away, as it were, from the dangerous proximity of a desperate and beautiful woman was clear; and although a large majority of men would, under the circumstances, have had the generosity to do the same, she was pleased to consider this act a most wondrous thing—her reason for doing so being that she was convinced that Trist loved her sister with all the cruel and taciturn strength of his nature. This was an utter mistake, and Theo Trist was unaware of its existence.
Ah! these little mistakes! We spend a small portion of our lives in making them, and the rest in trying to repair.
'Give me,' said Brenda, 'her address, and I will go to her to-morrow.'
'She is at the Castle Hotel, Burgh Ferry, Suffolk. There is a train from Liverpool Street Station leaving at ten o'clock to-morrow for Burgh Station, which is four miles from Burgh Ferry.'
'I have heard of the place,' said Brenda composedly. 'Have you been there and back this evening?'
'Yes. I just had time to install Alice comfortably in the hotel, which is really nothing more than an inn, and is the largest house in the village. I have a list for you—here it is—of things that Alice would like you to take to her to-morrow.'