‘Yes,’ answered Gerard.
They went along the churchyard path together, and at the gates there was a pause. Laura wanted the Vicarage party to go to luncheon at the Manor House, but Mrs. Clare declined. Of course the children could do what they liked, she said; as if her children had ever done anything else since they had emerged from the helplessness of infancy. Even in their cradles they had had wills of their own.
Celia looked at her brother, and saw by a warning twitch of his eyebrows that she was to say no.
‘I think we had better go home to luncheon,’ she said meekly. ‘Papa likes us to be at home on Sundays.’
Then she gave her brother’s sleeve a little tug.
‘You haven’t introduced Mr. Gerard,’ she whispered.
‘Ah, to be sure. Mr. Gerard, Mrs. Treverton, Mr. Treverton.’
‘Mr. Gerard and I have met before, under circumstances that made me deeply indebted to him,’ said John Treverton, holding out his hand.
Gerard lifted his hat, but appeared not to see the offered hand. This unexpected frankness took him by surprise. He had been prepared for anything rather than for John Treverton’s acknowledgment of their past acquaintance.
It was a bold stroke if the man were guilty; but Gerard’s experience had taught him that guilt is generally bold.