She was not quite certain that it was possible to achieve this tour de force, but she intended to try; for, curiously enough, she doubted Massingale not so much now, in the impulses of his infatuation, but beyond, in the hazardous months that must succeed. Up to the present she had two refuges; Blainey, who would continue steadfast, and Peavey, who was a problem. They had always been fixed points in her moments of greatest recklessness. Youth was a madness; but, after that, what? And whom to lean upon? With these thoughts in mind, she looked at Peavey's honest simple features with a feeling of tenderness and wonder. If the end of the romance were tragedy and disillusion, would he forgive her? Would she find there the charity—
"I owe you an explanation, Miss Baxter," Peavey began abruptly. Then he hesitated, and rearranged the knives and forks. "Your letter caused me great pain—the greatest! I would have come back instantly, if it had been possible without sacrificing things I had set my heart on."
"I was very much surprised; hurt, too!" she said gravely. "I have always thought of you—well, as different, don't you know?"
He bit his lip, and brought the knives over to the forks.
"I hope you didn't misjudge me?"
"I didn't know what to think!"
"I—I don't quite know how to explain. I did not realize Miss Horning's character. She confessed to me that she was in want; I thought of her as your friend."
"And you helped her?" she said, instantly alert.
"It was not much."
"It is true," she said seriously, "I introduced Winona to you. She has been a great deception to me, too. But why did you keep on seeing her without saying anything to me? Nothing wrong in it, but why hide it? That's what wounded me."