"I have no fear but that Bert will turn out well," rejoined Mrs. Barton proudly.
"Ahem! I hope so, though that twenty-dollar affair led me to fear that he had inherited loose ideas about honesty."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Barton, her cheeks aflame with indignation.
"I shouldn't think you would need to ask. Of course we both know why Mr. Barton is an exile, unable to return home."
"Yes, Albert Marlowe, we do know! He is an innocent man, suffering for the crime of another."
"That is what he says, is it?" sneered the squire. "That might be expected."
"Because it is true; but, Albert Marlowe, I have good hopes that his innocence may be vindicated, and the real criminal brought to light."
Her intense gaze made the squire uncomfortable. "Did she mean anything?" he asked himself.
"It is natural for you to take the most favorable view of the matter," he said; "but your hope is hardly likely to be realized. Good-morning."
Mrs. Barton looked after him, and her spirit rose in revolt against the inequalities of fortune. Here was the real criminal, as she fully believed—rich, prosperous, enjoying a high social position, while her poor husband, the scapegoat for another's offense, was an exile from home.