"
The last word, and the searching look that accompanied it, drew a swift
though quiet answer:
"It wasn't evil, I give you my word."
"Then you admit you did have a part in his disappearance?" said
Larcher, quickly.
"I may as well. Miss Kenby says you have evidence of it. You have
been clever--or I have been stupid.--I'm sorry Davenport showed you
my letter."
"Then, as your part was not evil," pursued Florence, with ill-repressed
eagerness, "you can't object to telling us about him. Where is he now?"
"Pardon me, but I do object. I have strong reasons. You must excuse me."
"We will not excuse you!" cried Florence. "We have the right to
know--the right of friend-ship--the right of love. I insist. I will not
take a refusal."
Apprised, by her earnestness, of the determination that confronted him,
Turl reflected. Plainly the situation was a most unpleasant one to him. A
brief movement showed that he would have liked to rise and pace the
floor, for the better thinking out of the question; or indeed escape from
the room; but the impulse was checked at sight of the obstacles to his
passage. Florence gave him time enough to thresh matters out in his mind.
He brought forth a sigh heavy with regret and discomfiture. Then, at
last, his face took on a hardness of resolve unusual to it, and he spoke
in a tone less than ordinarily conciliating:
"I have nothing now to do with Murray Davenport. I am in no way
accountable for his actions or for anything that ever befell him.
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