"Wal, I can't say exactly. I did think 'bout thet time, thet mebbe they 'd crossed the line inter Canady; but it ain't likely they 'd go north with the winter before 'em. Fact is, George was in such a state, I did n't think nor care much 'bout Happy, if he could only keep his head level through it all. An' he did; he had grit, an' no mistake. 'T was an awful blow, Marcia."
"It's my belief she came into Canada."
"'Tis, is it? What makes you think thet?" he asked in genuine surprise.
"Circumstantial evidence that is convincing. I believe she has been in this very house—for months too."
He looked at me suspiciously. (We were in the dining room; one on each side of the table.) I saw his forehead knit; then he spoke in a low voice, but rather anxiously:
"Here in this house? Ain't you got your circumstantial evidence a little mixed, Marcia?"
"No; listen."
I told him all, linking event to event, incident with incident till the chain was complete. I fitted his story into the Doctor's which he heard for the first time from me; I added Delia Beaseley's story, then André's, and, last, Mère Guillardeau's. I made no mention however of the marriage certificate and the Doctor's last talk with me.
"Now, what do you think of it, Cale?"
"I see which way you 're heading, Marcia, but—" he brought his fist down hard on his knee,—"you 're on the wrong track."