He returned the caress very heartily. Surely, indeed, if slowly, the better understanding was growing. They went into the dining-room to join Mr. Forester, the doctor's arm still round Marjory's waist.
"Smoothed it all over, eh?" asked Mr. Forester, smiling. "It's extraordinary the way the girls have of making their own tales good; isn't it, doctor? There's my Blanche now--she can simply twist me round her little finger, and make me say yes when I mean no, little beggar that she is," laughing.
"Blanche is a good girl, and so is Marjory," said the doctor.
"There now; didn't I say so? That young witch has simply made you think that to slip out on a dark night, get caught for a poacher, and then refuse to give any explanation, is the action of a pattern girl. Poor deluded old man!" And Mr. Forester shook his head and spread out his hands with a gesture of despair. "I tell you, these girls will make a fellow believe that the blackest of black is in reality the whitest of white, if only he will look at it in the right way--their way, of course."
"Don't you mind, Marjory; he's only teasing. We understand each other, don't we? Run away to bed and leave him to me. You have had an exciting day, and you must be tired and sleepy."
Marjory was tired, but she could not go to sleep. She was unable to forget that man and his trouble. What could it be? Then, too, there was Mrs. Shaw. She had learned to-day the cause of the stern expression in those dark eyes and of the sometimes bitter tongue. There must surely be a great deal of trouble in the world. Marjory was very sensitive to the pain of others; her heart went out at once to any one who was suffering; no matter who or where, she felt she must try to help them.
As she lay thinking about the stranger, a sudden light flashed across her brain. What if he were Mrs. Shaw's husband? He might have come just to see the place his wife lived in and the sort of people she worked for. Feeling sure that she would not forgive him, perhaps he would not try to see her, not knowing how her feelings towards him had changed. Marjory sat up in bed, her heart beating fast as in imagination she traced out this theory. The longer she thought about it the more sure she felt that it was the right one. It would explain the man's piteous grief and his bitter cry that nothing could ever help him. What was to be done?