“You speak of proving his innocence,” he said; “was there any proof of his guilt?”
“Nothing: but that his handwriting is like his father’s.”
“And do you know,” said Eddy looking away, “have you found out to whom, for instance, it was paid?”
“My husband,” said Evelyn, “is a very proud man. His honour is his life. He accepted the cheque, though he knew at once what it was. He would allow no questions. Therefore, it is impossible to inquire, to get any particulars. And the plan he devised to serve Archie will be his ruin. Imagine such a thing! We dare not ask lest he should be suspected; and so he must lie under suspicion all his life!”
“Oh, not so bad as that—fathers are not so bad as that: he will forgive him.”
“But he will never ask to be forgiven—nor accept forgiveness; how should he, being innocent?” said Evelyn.
“I should not be so particular,” said Eddy, with a momentary gleam of humour in his eyes. He could not be serious for long together without some such relief. “And so Mr. Rowland has got the cheque,” he said; then, after a pause, “And may I ask, dear Mrs. Rowland, who was so kind as to suggest that you should ask me?”
“Marion for one: I can’t tell why,” Evelyn said.
(“Oh,” Eddy said within himself, with another twinkle in his eyes, “I owe you one for that, my little May.”)
“And a very different person—a man whom perhaps you scarcely know, who suggested that your friend Johnson——”