“Doubted him!” And Miss Letty’s eyes opened in mild half-reproachful amazement. “Never! How can you suggest such a thing! I knew how true and good he was, and how much he loved me,—and that is why I have devoted all my life to his memory.”
Up and down, up and down, once more strode the Major, and at the third turn the temptation was conquered and he was himself again.
“Then according to your experience, Letty, Violet ought not to doubt Max Nugent, because he has, as you say, practically ceased writing to her?”
Miss Letty looked puzzled.
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” she answered. “You see they are not engaged,—you would not consent to an engagement till Mr. Nugent had proved his sincerity,—and I think you were wise; but as matters now stand, the child cannot insist on his writing to her. She has no hold upon him, save that of his professed love and honour.”
“That ought to be a strong hold,” said the Major. “Honour especially. No man has a right to win a woman’s love and then throw it away again. I must speak to Violet.”
And he did. He called unexpectedly one morning to take her to a Picture Exhibition, and after sauntering about the galleries a little, he sat down in a retired corner with her and put his first question very gently.
“Violet, when did you last hear from Nugent?”
The girl coloured hotly.
“Some time ago.”