“It is the readiness to believe evil of one, to put the worst construction upon one’s words and actions, that takes the heart out of one’s efforts to do right.”
There was silence for a minute, while they still speeded homewards under the quiet trees that detached loose leaves to drop on their heads, and while a painful conflict raged in Edward’s mind. Was she speaking truth? It was just possible; as long as the music of her breaking voice was falling on his ear it was even probable.
“If I have wronged you by my accusation,” he said in a voice as unlike his usual air as her own, “I do not know any penance that I can do heavy enough to wipe out the insult. If I have wronged you, can you ever forgive me?”
“As I hope to be forgiven!” she answered, lifting a little saintly wet face to heaven. It was a tag strayed out of some tale or rhyme which came blessedly to her aid at the moment she most needed it.
It was not till some time after he had left her, and the emotion caused by her angelic unresentingness had somewhat subsided, that Mr. Tancred remembered that his young guest had given him no explanation which could by any means be made to hold water of the equivocal situation in which he had found her.
CHAPTER XIX
It was impossible that such an experience, or group of experiences, should not leave traces on the complexion; yet it had to be left to its fate, Camilla’s eye for paint being as the nose of the truffle dog for truffles. Nor, if the cause of her pallor were inquired into, would Miss Ransome have the harbour of invention to steer her dismasted vessel into. Invention, however harmless, had in her present circumstances, standing at the bar of Edward’s judgment, to be shunned like the plague. But Camilla’s questions were fortunately diverted to her husband rather than her guest.
“You went to the Dower House?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad.”