The girl smiled. “No, Hugh.”
“Thank you, dear.” And he smiled back at her.
“I would give a great deal not to believe it, Hugh”—there was entreaty in Bransby’s voice, if not in his words, almost too a slight something of apology—“but the evidence is all against you.”
Hugh had grown angry a few moments ago, but at Helen’s smile all his anger had died, and even the very possibility of anger. And he answered Bransby as sadly and as gently as the older man himself had spoken, “I realize that, sir; but there must be some way to prove my innocence—and I’ll find it.”
“And in the meantime?” Bransby demanded.
“In the meantime,” his nephew echoed—“oh—yes—what do you want me to do?”
“The right thing.”
Helen sprang to her feet—but quietly, and even yet she said nothing. Of them all she was the least disturbed. But perhaps she was also the most intent. Hers was a watching brief. She held it splendidly.
“The right thing?” Hugh asked, puzzled but fearful.
“You must tell Helen that no marriage can take place between you—unless—until you have cleared yourself of this—this suspicion.”