“Exactly,” said Stephen, inwardly exultant, for he was really deceived by Knight’s off-hand manner.
Yet he was deceived less by the completeness of Knight’s disguise than by the persuasive power which lay in the fact that Knight had never before deceived him in anything. So this supposition that his companion had ceased to love Elfride was an enormous lightening of the weight which had turned the scale against him.
“Admitting that Elfride COULD love another man after you,” said the elder, under the same varnish of careless criticism, “she was none the worse for that experience.”
“The worse? Of course she was none the worse.”
“Did you ever think it a wild and thoughtless thing for her to do?”
“Indeed, I never did,” said Stephen. “I persuaded her. She saw no harm in it until she decided to return, nor did I; nor was there, except to the extent of indiscretion.”
“Directly she thought it was wrong she would go no further?”
“That was it. I had just begun to think it wrong too.”
“Such a childish escapade might have been misrepresented by any evil-disposed person, might it not?”
“It might; but I never heard that it was. Nobody who really knew all the circumstances would have done otherwise than smile. If all the world had known it, Elfride would still have remained the only one who thought her action a sin. Poor child, she always persisted in thinking so, and was frightened more than enough.”