"You know very well what I mean, Fred Norman," said Tetlow. "And you
ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Don't stand there scowling and grimacing like an idiot," said Norman
with an amused smile. "What do you mean?"

"She told me--about your coming to see her--about your offer to do
something for her father--about your acting in a way that made her
uneasy."

For an instant Norman was panic-stricken. Then his estimate of her
reassured him. "I took your advice," said he. "I went to see for myself.
How did I act that she was made uneasy?"

"She didn't say. But a woman can tell what a man has in the back of his
head--when it concerns her. And she is a good woman--so innocent that
you ought to be ashamed of yourself for even thinking of her in that
way. God has given innocence instincts, and she felt what you were
about."

Norman laughed--a deliberate provocation. "Love has made a fool of you,
old man," he said.

"I notice you don't deny," retorted Tetlow shrewdly.

"Deny what? There's nothing to deny." He felt secure now that he knew
she had been reticent with Tetlow as to the happenings in the cottage.

"Maybe I'm wronging you," said Tetlow, but not in the tone of belief.