“I do. It's part of the debt we'll settle some day.”
“Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the prison. He saw your father there and remembered him.”
“And told Mr. Ryder,” with a contemptuous twist of the lips.
“There were others present at the time. They were not alone.”
“But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts.”
“How do you know?” And once more her tone was one of defiance and defence.
“I have been told so, and I have every reason to believe I was correctly informed. Why, don't you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business to strike at me over my father's shoulder?” demanded Oakley, with palpable exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions galled him. Why didn't she show a little generous feeling. He expected she would be angry at his words and manner. On the contrary, she replied:
“I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not believe in condemning any one as you would condemn him—unheard.”
She was unduly conscious, perhaps, that sound morality was on her side in this.
“Let us leave him out of it. After all, it is no odds who told. The harm is done.”