It is what you
have done in so cowardly a manner since I last saw you, and at a time
when I was not present to hear or to resent it."
"But what have I done?" I asked.
"You should know. I don't," he answered, sullenly.
"If neither you nor I know what I have done to offend, how are we to
settle this matter? How may I apologize or make amends?" I asked.
"You can't," he returned.
"Ah, but I can and I will, George Hamilton," I answered, determined not
to let him put me off without knowing wherein I had offended. "Save what
you heard at Sundridge, I have neither done nor said anything unfit to
come from a friend. If any man has reported me otherwise, he has lied.
If any woman--well, she is mistaken."
"No one has reported you otherwise or any wise," he answered.
"Then tell me the cause of your grievance, and I may be able to explain
or deny. You perhaps know by this time that I always speak the truth
to you, so out with it, George. Let us settle this matter, whatever it
be--one way or the other. Friendship should not be left to dangle between
love and hatred. It sits squarely on the heart of an honest man, or is
cast out candidly and above board. Shall I sit down?"
"Yes," he answered, rising from the bed, drawing the rug up over his
shoulders, and taking a chair not far from where I was sitting. "I saw
your cousin--"
"When and where?" I interrupted.
"Yesterday, in this house," he replied.
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