“Why, yes. He was here that night. He has admitted it. You will be asked to tell what he said.”
In Sylvia’s eyes both disdain and acquiescence surged. “And what of it?”
“But,” Orr exclaimed, “there is the threat. He made it in the presence of Harris and repeated it in yours.”
“He did nothing of the kind.”
“But you told me so.”
“You are mistaken. I know nothing of any threat whatever.”
“Oh,” said Orr with a bow, “this is magnificent.”
But he meant heroic. In view of the girl’s nature it was certainly that. What is more, it was helpful. With Fanny out of the way, the only one left that could testify to any threat was Harris, and Annandale’s word was quite as good as his, better even, for the value of the servant’s testimony would be weighed in scales in one of which would be the Chronicle ’s dollars.
Orr said as much to Sylvia, but apparently his views did not seem to her very novel. It became obvious to him that she had thought it all out for herself.
“Besides,” she presently and irrelevantly continued, “I am to blame. If I had not been stupid with him, there would have been nothing to threaten about.”
That, Orr thought, was rather putting the dots on the i ’s. But he did not mind. He was pleased with her. His respect for her had increased. Had she been the kind of a cousin to permit such a thing there and then he would have kissed her.