"It was a long time ago, Clara," Whyte said deprecatingly. "Clyde was young, and you know he was a wild youngster. And there may have been provocations of which we know nothing."
"You are trying to excuse him, as though you thought the story true," cried Mrs. Whyte indignantly. "I simply say that I don't believe it. Not for a moment."
"I believe it," said a voice that startled us all. Katherine Thurston was standing on the landing of the stairs, looking down upon us as we were grouped in the hall. There was a tall lamp on the newel which threw a white light on her face, but it was not the lamp-light which gave it the look of subdued radiance that held our gaze. I confess I stared quite greedily, careless of what she was saying. But Mrs. Whyte recovered herself first,--naturally.
"Katherine! What are you saying? Come down!"
She came down slowly. There was a curious stillness upon her, as though she had come strangely upon peace in the midst of a storm.
["I believe it," said a voice that startled us all.
Page 186.]
"I should think you would at least wait for a little better evidence before believing such a thing of--of any friend!" Mrs. Whyte chided indignantly.
Something like a ripple passed over Miss Thurston's face. She was actually smiling!
"I don't mean that I am eager to believe evil reports of Mr. Clyde," she said gently. "But--it explains so much. I think it probably is true because it would--explain. And, of course," she added, lifting her head with a proud gesture that would have sent Clyde to his knees, "of course it makes not an atom of difference in our feeling toward him. We know what he is."