He flushed, but she met his look with unabashed composure. She had lied, but she had lied easily, for the lie had been carefully premeditated. When, during her absence, her mind’s decision had gone against Clifford, she had considered what would be the most effective method of giving undebatable conclusion to the affair; and had decided upon this course that she had followed. No need for letters—no chance for sentimental pleading to alter her mind; it would be all over, and ended, before he knew a thing. Further, since the break had to come, it appealed to her pride to seem superior and indifferent.
Clifford was angry, but he contained himself. “To go on: was your meeting with Mr. Morton in that out-of-the-way spot, Pine Mountain Lodge, pure coincidence as he said?—or did cunning brains bring it about?”
“You mean, my cunning brains?” Two spots of conscious color appeared in her cheeks.
“I do not mean you. Did some one else, perhaps without your knowledge at the time, plan that you should meet?”
“What are you driving at?” she demanded sharply.
“I don’t know myself yet—exactly.”
“Who could have planned our meeting? As you know, I went to Pine Mountain Lodge to be alone. Mr. Morton, not knowing of my presence there or even of my existence, came to Pine Mountain to rest up. We couldn’t help meeting, since the lodge is the only place at which one can stay. That’s all there is to this amazing mystery.”
“Undoubtedly all you see. But the coincidence explanation doesn’t explain everything. Some one may have been behind Jack Morton’s going.”
“Who? In what way? And for what reason?”
“Those are things to be found out.” He looked at her steadily for a moment. “I asked you this before, but I am going to ask it again: why are you here in hiding?”