They had come to the end of the line of villa residences, to the cross-road that marked the beginning of Sunnington proper. Irene halted.
“You must ride on,” she said, extending her hand. He saw the social necessity. They were a marked couple, and several passers-by had already turned curious eyes upon them.
“I shall stay abroad until I have your permission to return,” he said.
She smiled sadly. It would not be her summons that would bring him back from exile. But she nodded an assent. He pressed her hand, murmured a “God bless you,” and rode off.
The interview that each had looked forward to, with such trepidation, was over. Irene felt somewhat faint from the strain. Deceit was alien to her nature which ever erred in over-frankness. Yet when he quickly disappeared from her following eyes into the gathering darkness, she gave a little sob of relief and hurried on at a brisk pace.
CHAPTER XVI
“T ELL me, Harroway,” said Gerard, “you who are the friend of us all, and would like to defend both my wife and Colman, does her story hold water?”
“I should let things alone for the present,” replied the lawyer, cautiously; “make investigations, give her for the while the benefit of the doubt.”