"Certainly I do. Don't you?"
"No."
"But, Marcia, can't you see how plain it all is? I know it is terrible for you, dear. It almost breaks my heart. It is an awful thing to believe of anybody—harder still of a person one loves. Nevertheless, we must face the facts. People do not carry such things about with them—especially men. He came by them in no honest way, you may be sure of that. Hasn't he told you anything?—haven't you asked him?"
"I wouldn't think of asking him," Marcia replied with a lift of her chin.
"And he has not volunteered any information?"
"No."
"Most men, if honest and caught in such an odd situation, would explain," continued Sylvia. "The very fact that Mr. Heath has not is suspicious in itself. He is guilty, Marcia—guilty."
"I do not believe it," was the stubborn protest.
"I realize, dear, it is hard for you to own it," soothed Sylvia. "We hate to admit the faults of those we—we—care for. Still, nothing is to be gained by remaining blind to them."
"You speak as if such a sin were a mere trivial flaw of character, Sylvia. Why, it is fundamental—a crime."