THE AMERICAN
pretended not to care—not to be afraid. But I know they did care—they were afraid."
"Are you very sure?"
He looked at her hard. "Why, they fairly turned blue."
She resumed her slow stitches. "They defied you, eh?"
"They took the only tone they could. But I did n't think they took it very well."
"You tried by the threat of exposure to make them come round?" Mrs. Tristram pursued.
"Yes, but they would n't. I gave them their choice, and they chose to take their chance of bluffing off the charge and convicting me of fraud, that is of having procured and paid for a forgery. Forgery was of course their easy word—but words did n't, and don't, matter. They're as sick as a pair of poisoned cats—and I don't want any more 'revenge.'"
"It's most provoking," she returned, "to hear you talk of the charge when the charge is burned up. Is it quite consumed?" she asked, glancing at the fire. He assured her there was nothing left of it, and at this, dropping her embroidery, she got up and came near him. "I need n't tell you at this hour how I've felt for you. But I like you as you are," she said.
"As I am—?"
"As you are." She stood before him and put out her hand as for his own, which he a little blankly let her take. "Just exactly as you are," she repeated. With which, bending her head, she raised his hand and very tenderly and beautifully kissed it. Then,
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