WHITEWASH
in Morton's manner. He recalled Philippa's affectionate tributes to Victoria, and the first doubt that had ever dimmed his old and deep affection settled over his heart. After all, Tory was no better than the average woman swayed by jealousy, the fundamental fault; he had always believed her above such pettiness and personal spite. He was far too loyal in his love to doubt Philippa for a moment. She stood on the altar he had built for her, free from all question. The queen could do no wrong, and since she was unspeakably good and true and honorable, there was only one other opinion open to him. Victoria had been mistaken in the matter of the pin, or misled by some chance resemblance of design. As far as the story concerned Valdeck, he was more than ready to believe it. He had mistrusted the Pole from the first, and had watched with ever deepening dislike the mysterious stranger's advance into the good graces of his lady-love.
Victoria finished her narration and sat silent, staring out across the bare court to the deserted trellis and the empty carriage sheds.
Morton was uncomfortable. To have detected
