"'T is not I who has betrayed any trust," I cried boldly. "I brought the papers and wished to offer them. They arrived in your possession, and you cried 'Straw, straw!' Did you not?"
"'T was an expedient, O'Ruddy," said the Earl.
"There is more than one expedient in the world," said I. "I am now using the expedient of keeping the papers."
And in the glance which he gave me I saw that I had been admitted behind a certain barrier. He was angry, but he would never more attempt to overbear me with grand threats. And he would never more attempt to undermine me with cheap flattery. We had measured one against the other, and he had not come away thinking out of his proportion. After a time he said:
"What do you propose to do, Mr. O'Ruddy?"
I could not help but grin at him. "I propose nothing," said I. "I am not a man for meaning two things when I say one."
"You 've said one thing, I suppose?" he said slowly.
"I have," said I.
"And the one thing?" said he.
"Your memory is as good as mine," said I.
He mused deeply and at great length. "You have the papers?" he asked finally.
"I still have them," said I.
"Then," he cried with sudden vehemence, "why did n't you read the papers and find out the truth?"
I almost ran away.
"Your—your lordship," I stammered, "I thought perhaps in London—in London perhaps—I might get a—I would try to get a tutor."
