“Will you repeat what she told you?”
“There is not much to tell. He met her at a time when she was in difficulty, and was very kind to her. She always thought a great deal of him.”
“What was the nature of the feeling she entertained for him—gratitude or love?”
At that Barnes gave a start.
He was not in the slightest degree of a jealous character, and when refused by Miss Doane he had not in any wise attributed his rejection to a love entertained by her for this man. But, now that the idea was suggested by the detective’s words, he recalled many things that she had said of him, recalled that when speaking of him her eyes had grown luminous, recalled and looked upon in a new light a thousand things that at the time had produced on him little, if any, impression.
In a lowered voice, he said:
“To answer that question with any degree of accuracy would be impossible. At the time I certainly thought she entertained for him no stronger feeling than gratitude, although at this minute I cannot be so sure of it.”
“The chances are, however, that she does entertain for him the stronger feeling of the two. Does not your common sense tell you this is true?”
“It does—and Heaven knows how much against my will.”
The detective paused on the point of saying something to Barnes.