Mr Carter looked troubled. He went up and took Jim’s hand.
“I am ever so puzzled,” he said. “I accused that girl, Betty Wren, and it seems—but tell me the whole story, Pen. I must hear it from beginning to end. Then I shall be able to decide.”
So Pen told him the story. Angela stood very gravely by. She stood a little bit in the background, and the shadow of the great curtain partly concealed her face, but the light of evening fell across her white dress, so that her whole appearance was like that of a pitying angel, who was waiting for the moment when the sinner was to be forgiven. Mr Carter looked from one of his children to the other, then at Angela.
“You have pretty high ideas of honour,” he said. “You know what this sort of thing means. Now, tell me what you would do if you were in my shoes.”
“There is no doubt whatever about what you will do,” said Angela.
“You think, don’t you—I believe saints always do—that sin ought to be punished.”
“We have the Divine Example,” said Angela in a low tone.
Mr Carter looked at her.
“You said a strange thing a minute ago; you said you were Penelope’s friend,” he remarked.
“So I am, from this day forward, as long as we both live.”