"
The obvious inference was that the prodigal had been reclaimed by the
simple means of putting him on his honor, but that did not for a moment
suggest itself to the girl. She had often regretted her own disbelief
and once more felt the need for reparation.
"Lance," she said, very quietly, "my aunt was wiser than I was, but she
was mistaken. What she gave you out of her wide charity was already
yours by right."
That was complete and final, for Maud Barrington did nothing by half,
and Winston recognized that she held him blameless in the past, which
she could not know, as well as in the present, which was visible to
her. Her confidence stung him as a whip, and when in place of
answering he looked away, the girl fancied that a smothered groan
escaped him. She waited, curiously expectant, but he did not speak,
and just then the fall of hoofs rose from behind the birches in the
bluff. Then a man's voice came through it singing a little French
song, and Maud Barrington glanced at her companion.
"Lance," she said, "how long is it since you sang that song?"
"Well," said Winston, doggedly conscious of what he was doing, "I do
not know a word of it, and never heard it in my life."
Maud Barrington stared at him. "Think," she said. "It seems ever so
long ago, but you cannot have forgotten. Surely you remember Madame
Aubert, who taught me to prattle in French, and the day you slipped
into the music-room and picked up the song, while she tried in vain to
teach it me.
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