“You!” uttered Constance, regarding the avowal only from her own point of view. “He asked whether you had sent it?”
“He did.”
She gazed at Hamish as if she would read his very soul. “And what did—what did you answer?”
“Told him I wished a few others would suspect me of the same, and count imaginary payments for real ones.”
“Hamish!” she exclaimed, the complaint wrung from her: “how can you be so light, so cruel, when our hearts are breaking?”
Hamish, in turn, was surprised at this. “I, cruel! In what manner, Constance? My dear, I repeat to you that we shall have Charley back again. I feel sure of it; and it has done away with my fear. Some inward conviction, or presentiment—call it which you like—tells me that we shall; and I implicitly trust to it. We need not mourn for him.”
“It is not for Charley: I do not speak of Charley now,” she sadly reiterated. “You are straying from the point. Hamish, have you no love left for Arthur?”
“I have plenty of love for every one,” said Mr. Hamish.
“Then how can you behave like this? Arthur is not guilty; you know he is not. And look what he has to bear! I believe you would laugh at the greatest calamity! Sending back this money to Mr. Galloway has—has—sadly distressed me.”
Hamish turned his smiling eyes upon her, but his tone was grave. “Wait until some great calamity occurs, Constance, and then see whether I laugh. Did I laugh that dreadful night and day that succeeded to Charley’s loss? Sending back the money to Mr. Galloway is not a cause for sadness. It most certainly exonerates Arthur.”