was
simply out of his mind, quite insane, and didn't know what he was doing.
He isn't, of course, a ruffian or a coward. Won't you help to make them
understand that?"

The girl raised her eyes, which in the twilight were darker than the
'depth of water stilled at even.'

"I don't see the necessity for that," she said, in a firm voice. "I--I'm
afraid I can't consent to be involved in it any further."

Over the little summer-house hung the sweet beauties of the serene
night. About it stretched the calm lawn in chequers of large faint
brightness and gigantic shadows. Within it stood the tall stranger,
rooted in his tracks. Then it seemed to occur to him that there was some
misunderstanding; that at least, in his anxiety about his friend, he
hadn't allowed sufficiently for the properly outraged feelings of the
lady--this so unreasonable-looking daughter of Mr. Heth of the Works, or
his niece....

"It's all tremendously trying for you, I know," he said, with the same
sort of gentleness. "I assure you the situation has distressed me
greatly--from every aspect. And I think it's most kind and--and generous
of you to let me speak with you when you must feel that you've been so
badly treated.... But you see--as it stands, you are involved in it,
really, more than any one else. I'm sorry, but in fact the whole issue
is in your hands."

"I can't see that. He has given you his--his version of what took place.
No one will prevent him from saying the same thing to whomever
he wishes."

"But who will believe him?"

Carlisle perceived a rhetorical question, though she didn't know it
under that name; she made no reply. She would really have preferred no
more questions of any sort--what was the use of them? In her, as in all
the Maker's creatures, the instinct for self-preservation was planted to
work resistlessly. Small wonder, indeed, if, in the unexpected discovery
that dependence on Dalhousie's dubious gentlemanliness was unnecessary,
the uprush of relief should have swept away all lesser considerations,
flooded down all doubts. All was settled again in a trice, as by a
miracle: the miraculous agent here being, not the Deity (as she vaguely
suspected), but only the Demon Rum, he who had taught the frail lad
Dalhousie to be so mistrustful of himself ...

She had had a harassing day, including three momentous _tete-a-tetes_
with three different and widely variegated men, mostly comparative
strangers: Jack Dalhousie, Mr. Cann