“Indeed you can, far above my deserts,” he answered, with the spell of her voice and presence, of her mood attuned, as it seemed, to his own, thrilling through him. “Although it is unnecessary; the fight in your cause has been its own reward.”
There was a little pause, as though the subject had run as far as it might venture. Then Alexia spoke.
“Ah, if I dared believe that the worst was over now!”
“I think you may,” he replied. “I do not see how this new evidence can be shaken.”
“You are not absolutely certain?” Her eyes were fixed on his face, and he felt she was reading him.
He thought of Gastineau and his almost scoffing scepticism. He longed to feel able to tell her that all fear and doubt were passed, yet, with the memory of his mentor’s views, he could not, and felt a brute in consequence.
“I believe it,” he answered, hoping the evasion was not apparent. “My own opinion is that this man’s evidence settles the question so far as you are concerned.”
“But you think others may not share it?” she asked shrewdly.
“I think,” he answered, “that others, who are interested, as half the world is, in believing the worst, may be reluctant to share it.”
Alexia was leaning back, bitterly reflective. “The world, our world, is very cruel,” she said.