The Witness for the Defense | Page 8

in her heart: if this man with the brains and the
money and the perseverance sitting at her side should turn out to be the
Perseus for her beautiful chained Andromeda, far away there in the
state of Chitipur! The lines of a poem came into her thoughts.
"I know; the world proscribes not love, Allows my finger to caress

Your lips' contour and downiness Provided it supplies the glove."
Suppose that here at her side was the man who would dispense with the
glove! She looked again at Thresk. The lean strong face suggested that
he might, if he wanted hard enough. All her life had been passed in the
support of authority and law. Authority--that was her husband's
profession. But just for this hour, as she thought of Stella Ballantyne,
lawlessness shone out to her desirable as a star.
"No, she has never once mentioned your name, Mr. Thresk."
Again Thresk was conscious of the little pulse of resentment beating at
his heart.
"She has no doubt forgotten me."
Mrs. Repton shook her head.
"That's one explanation. There might be another."
"What is it?"
"That she remembers you too much."
Mrs. Repton was a little startled by her own audacity, but it provoked
nothing but an incredulous laugh from her companion.
"I am afraid that's not very likely," he said. There was no hint of elation
in his voice nor any annoyance. If he felt either, why, he was on guard
no less than she. Mrs. Repton was inclined to throw up her hands in
despair. She was baffled and she was little likely, as she knew, to get
any light.
"If you take the man you know best of all," she used to say, "you still
know nothing at all of what he's like when he's alone with a woman,
especially if it's a woman for whom he cares--unless the woman talks."
Very often the woman does talk and the most intimate and private facts
come in a little while to be shouted from the housetops. But Stella

Ballantyne did not talk. She had talked once, and once only, under a
great stress to Jane Repton; but even then Thresk had nothing to do
with her story at all.
Thresk turned quickly towards her.
"In a moment Mrs. Carruthers will get up. Her eyes are collecting the
women and the women are collecting their shoes. What have you to tell
me?"
Mrs. Repton wanted to speak. Thresk gave her confidence. He seemed
to be a man without many illusions, he was no romantic sentimentalist.
She went back to the poem of which the lines had been chasing one
another through her head all through this dinner, as a sort of
accompaniment to their conversation. Had he found it out? she asked
herself--
"The world and what it fears."
Thus she hung hesitating while Mrs. Carruthers gathered in her hands
her gloves and her fan. There was a woman at the other end of the table
however who would not stop talking. She was in the midst of some
story and heeded not the signals of her hostess. Jane Repton wished she
would go on talking for the rest of the evening, and recognised that the
wish was a waste of time and grew flurried. She had to make up her
mind to say something which should be true or to lie. Yet she was too
staunch to betray the confidence of her friend unless the betrayal meant
her friend's salvation. But just as the woman at the end of the table
ceased to talk an inspiration came to her. She would say nothing to
Thresk, but if he had eyes to see she would place him where the view
was good.
"I have this to say," she answered in a low quick voice. "Go yourself to
Chitipur. You sail on Friday, I think? And to-day is Monday. You can
make the journey there and back quite easily in the time."
"I can?" asked Thresk.

"Yes. Travel by the night-mail up to Ajmere tomorrow night. You will
be in Chitipur on Wednesday afternoon. That gives you twenty-four
hours there, and you can still catch the steamer here on Friday."
"You advise that?"
"Yes, I do," said Mrs. Repton.
Mrs. Carruthers rose from the table and Jane Repton had no further
word with Thresk that night. In the drawing-room Mrs. Carruthers led
him from woman to woman, allowing him ten minutes for each one.
"He might be Royalty or her pet Pekingese," cried Mrs. Repton in
exasperation. For now that her blood had cooled she was not so sure
that her advice had been good. The habit of respect for authority
resumed its ancient place in her. She might be planting that night the
seed of a very evil flower. "Respectability" had