"Don't you see," I explained, with a confidential lowering of my voice, "that if he had been killed before the ceremony she would have been left out in the cold; whereas, afterwards it wouldn't matter—ah—so much."
"Wouldn't matter—so——"
"In a pecuniary sense," I interjected nervously. "I know she'd be heartbroken and all that, but as a widow—I mean, as his widow—she'd be wealthy, and—and—she'd get over——"
By Marion's stony glare I knew I had struck quicksand; I felt myself sinking and made one despairing effort to recover my footing. "Of course, I made up my mind that if I didn't pull him through safely, I'd give back my five thousand to Aunt Sophy, but—Good Heavens! Marion—what's the matter?"
It has been my lot to arouse anger, sorrow, despair, scorn, and various other sentiments consecutively, but never before had I seen them expressed in one composite glance.
"So that was your motive," she said, with stinging, withering emphasis. "You clutched Mr. Fairman as a miser might clutch his hoard if his house took fire. It wasn't to save his life; it wasn't for Aunt Sophy's sake; he was merely a money sack. Henry, if you hadn't confessed it yourself I wouldn't have believed you were such a mercenary wretch. No wonder you looked ashamed."
We had just reached the house, and I had no chance to clear my character before Marion ran upstairs and locked herself in her room, so I thought it politic to leave her in silence for a while. I was bristling with indignation, for while I hadn't pretended that my conduct was praiseworthy, I knew that I had not been cold-blooded and calculating enough to try to save Mr. Fairman from the motive she had suggested. Indeed, I saw that the explanation that I had formulated in response to Marion's insistent questions had no foundation in fact, except possibly a fragmentary impression that may have flashed across my mind for an instant during our imminent peril, yet I had been thick-headed enough to make it appear that I had been influenced by these considerations instead of confessing that I had invented them as an afterthought. I knew I should be able to make Marion see the matter in this light when she had been sufficiently long in seclusion; in the meantime, I went around to the rear of the house to find William Wedder and to settle my score with him.
I met him looking for me, dressed up in his best clothes and carrying his red bundle and stick.
"William," I said, in my most austere manner, "I haven't had a chance to tell you what I think of your con——"
"No, sir," he broke in, "and I'm not calculatin' to give you a chance. I'm off."