“Mrs. Bradley isn’t engaged to marry me,” he said. “I don’t know why she hasn’t got a right to walk on the street with Stephen Lamar or any one else if she wants to.”
“That isn’t the point, Barry,” protested Miss Chichester. “The point is that you haven’t got a right to walk on the street with her, or haunt her office, or commend her beauty, after you know what she’s done.”
“Why,” said Barry, “I don’t think it’s so very bad for her to be seen on the street with this man. Maybe it wasn’t her fault that he was with her. I don’t think I would deprive her of my friendship on that account, Jane.”
“Oh, but wait! You haven’t heard it all yet,” exclaimed Miss Chichester. “Wait till I tell you the rest, and then let me hear you dare to defend her, Barry Malleson.”
“Proceed,” said Westgate soberly.
“Well, I made up my mind that things weren’t right, and that I’d see it out. So I had Albert drive down-town again. I knew that those Factory Hill people usually cross the foot-bridge instead of going around, so I gave them time to get there, and then we drove up Brook Street, past the entrance to the foot-bridge. Sure enough they were just going across. I had Albert stop the car so I could get a good square look at them. They were so interested in each other that they didn’t see or hear us. And now what do you think?”
She turned first to Westgate and then to Barry to prepare them for the awful disclosure she was about to make. Her question was in the nature of a shock-absorber.
“This is getting serious,” said Westgate, straightening up. “Are you sure it was Mrs. Bradley?”
“Positively certain!”
“And Stephen Lamar?”