"He said not; he—he was following the men who shot Cousin Wallace."
The blind man lay for an instant still. "Tell me," he commanded finally.
She told him, beginning with her discovery of Eaton in the garage and ending with his leaving her and with Donald Avery's finding her in the motor; and now she held back one word only—his name which he had told her, Hugh. Her father listened intently; when she had finished, he made no move, no comment, no reproach. She had seated herself on the chair beside his bed; she looked away, then back to him.
"That is not all," she said; and she told him of her expedition with Eaton to the ravine before the attack in the house.
Again she waited.
"You and Mr. Eaton appear to have become rather well acquainted, Harriet," he said. "Has he told you nothing about himself which you have not told me? You have seen nothing concerning him, which you have not told?"
Her mind went quickly back to the polo game; she felt a flush, which his blind eyes could not see, dyeing her cheeks and forehead.
"No," she answered. She was aware that he did not accept the denial, that he knew she was concealing something.
"Nothing?" he asked again.
She put her hands to her face; then she drew them quickly away. "Nothing," she said steadily.