“I’m sorry,” said Carroll simply.
“I also. The more so in that my attitude may be misconstrued against Mr. Perkins. I am bound by confidence.”
“So I infer,” returned his visitor courteously. “Then I have only to ask your pardon—”
“One moment, if you please, señor. Perhaps this will serve to make easy your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins’s life on the mountain in any manner dishonorable or—or irregular.”
In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll’s mind. That a woman was there, and a woman not of the servant class, could hardly be doubted, in view of almost direct evidence from eyewitnesses. If there was nothing irregular about her presence, it was because she was Perkins’s wife. In view of Raimonda’s attitude, he did not feel free to put the direct query. Another question would serve his purpose.
“Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, that she should associate with him under the circumstances?”
The Caracuñan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that said, as plainly as words, “How much do you know that you are not telling?” had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory to interpret it.
“Ah, that,” said Raimonda, after a pause,—“that is another question. If it were my sister, or any one dear to me—but”—he shrugged—“views on that matter differ.”
“I hardly think that yours and mine differ, señor. I thank you for bearing with me with so much patience.”
He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty.