of the letters without hiding a thing. “So he thinks it quite natural that I should fly to the other extreme, and want no human creature to hang for one so base. You see,” said Claire shrewdly, “he is a man of extremes himself.”
“Then, instead of undeceiving him, you have literally fooled him to the top of his bent?”
Claire blushed hotly. “I cannot help that. I may make up for it some day. Any woman would do the same.”
Mr. Harding was slow to understand.
“That he should never know what I know,” said he, “is right enough; but why carry the thing so far? Why pretend this revulsion?”
Claire hung her head.
“Come, come!” he cried. “You promised to hide nothing more from me. You are hiding your chief motive. What is it?”
“I would rather not say.”
“And I insist on knowing.”
“Very well, then; it is to give Tom Erichsen another chance.”
Harding turned livid.
“That young—”
“Oh, don’t be angry! You know you thought of it yourself. And I loved him; could I leave a stone unturned?”
“But what can Daintree do?”
“What you thought of doing yourself.”
“He has never consented?”
“Eagerly. He is going to have a solicitor at Marylebone tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Harding glared at the girl, who flung back her ringlets and met his look, unafraid and unashamed.
