The eyes were very sad, the voice was very pleading. Should he give the unhappy girl one little crumb of comfort? For a little time he hesitated, then compassion got the better of prudence and of his iron reserve.
“I will just say this, Miss Sheldon, and no more. It is becoming a less impossible task to clear him than I at first thought; but please don’t be too jubilant—there are still very formidable difficulties in the way.”
A radiant light came into the charming face, although her eyes filled with tears and she clasped her hands nervously together. Her voice trembled as she spoke.
“You have put new life into me with those words, Mr. Lane. I know you quite well by now, and I am sure that, coming from you, they mean much.”
Poor Lane began to think he had made a bit of a mistake in departing from his usual caution, in being moved by the pleading attitude of the girl into giving her this small crumb of comfort. That was the worst of women—they were so impressionable and optimistic, or pessimistic, as the case might be. Their moods were never equable: they were either at the height of elation or in the depth of despair.
“Please do not let me excite false hopes, Miss Sheldon,” he hastened to say. “Remember, I have told you there are great difficulties in the way. Until we are on much firmer ground I would beg that you do not repeat my words to Mr. Croxton.”
But she did not give any answer to this request, and he knew that for all practical purposes he might have held his peace. Of course, she would post off to her lover as soon as she could get away, and infect him with her own optimism. Well, he was loath to confide too much in the most hard-headed and sceptical man; he had only himself to blame for having been over-confidential with a member of the emotional sex.
Later on in the day Rosabelle carried out his prediction; she made up her mind to pay a visit to Petersham, to hearten her lover with a recital of those words which she was convinced meant so much, coming from a man of Lane’s cautious temperament.
Morrice had left the house shortly after the detective’s departure. The two women would have lunched alone together but for the unexpected arrival of young Archie Brookes, who was pressed to stay for the meal.
Rosabelle was very sensitive to impressions, and, for so young a girl, particularly observant. It struck her that during the progress of the luncheon the young man seemed rather distrait and preoccupied. Two or three times he answered at random, and once Mrs. Morrice called out to him sharply, “I don’t think you are listening to what I am saying, Archie.” At that rebuke he seemed to pull himself together, but the girl was sure his thoughts were far away from her aunt’s light chatter.