sits by your side. It is the one who does not care, or he who wishes to argue, to judge, who chooses to sit and face you. When Duncan did this, I drew back.
"Janet," he said, "this is not well. Had you no confidence in us, that you should treat us in this manner?"
I laughed at this: "I do not know that you should reproach me with anything."
"I have a right to reproach you," he answered. "You cannot ignore the interest I have in you, and that gives me a right to know enough of your life to be able to protect you. You need not shrug your shoulders: I have that right, and I mean to exercise it. You have certainly developed an extraordinary amount of business ability, but you have been rash and foolish about it. In the past week, while I waited for news of you in Leaping Rock, I have heard much of you, and I know that you have been business-like and prompt. I do not know a man who could have done better."
"Thank you," I replied.
"But there is much I do not understand. Janet, I want you to tell me the story of it all. You need a friend. You look tired, worried. There are lines on your face that I never saw there before. There is no one who would serve you more gladly than I will."
I drew away the hand he had taken.
"There is nothing to tell. You know the facts. There is a large claim. The heir has appeared, everything necessary has been proved, and the proof has been admitted. That is all there is of it. If I have chosen to attend to it, what is to be said against me? I have not bungled over the business. And you know perfectly well, Duncan Macfarlane, that if I had asked counsel of you—but I never once thought of doing so—you would have been opposed to my taking one step by myself."
"Of course I should."
"But I have done well. Had I put the business in the hands of a lawyer, it would have cost no one knows how much, and it might have gone on for years."
"All that is true. There is no doubt but that you have managed with economy and skill, but that is not all."
"What else is there?" and I arose, and walked away from him to the window, but he followed, and stood by me.
"You may have had your own reasons," he continued, "for having concealed your marriage. That is your own affair,—although, I acknowledge, it has been a great shock to me,—but" And he paused.
"Well?" said I.
"Your name, Janet? Why are all the papers in the name of Juliet and not Janet Garlic? Which is your real name?"
"Oh, either."
"Don't answer me in that way!" he angrily cried.
"Don't question me, then," said I. "I am sure I do not know what right you have to do so."
"See here," he replied: "we are not going to discuss any question
