"Yes," I replied, rather sharply I fear, for I was out of breath and humor, "and a fast one when I think it worth while to call on him." She looked him over carelessly as she replied: "I thought he was doing his best just now; he seems a little blown, does he not?"
I deigned no reply to this and there were prospects of our ride being finished in silence, for if I intended to sulk she evidently meant to let me. Such a course, however, was not calculated to accomplish my purpose and as we were nearing the city again, I determined to introduce the subject I had in mind.
"It is strange," I said, "is it not, that you and I should both be connected so closely with the circumstances of Arthur White's death?"
She looked up surprised and evidently none too well pleased with the unexpected change in my tone.
"I don't know why you should say that," she answered, "I had nothing to do with Mr. White's death."
"No, nor had I directly," I replied; "but I was at his house the night of his death and he was at yours."
"You may have been at his house," she answered, "but I do not know that he was at mine."
"But he left his ulster there," I insisted.
"His ulster was left there," she said, changing my phraseology; then she stopped and hesitated; "but let us talk of something else," she concluded, "for the subject makes me sad," and I discerned a little tremor in her voice that I thought was genuine.
Sometimes a woman like Belle Stanton may grieve, though she must not show it, and I was sorry for her, but I meant to persevere in my purpose, nevertheless.