Dick wondered gloomily whether she meant that he might have saved her
pain by staying away, or that he had involved her in his disgrace by
coming, since his visit would be talked about. He reflected bitterly that
the latter was more probable.
"Well," he said, "we have been pretty good friends and I'm leaving the
country. I don't suppose I shall come back again."
"When do you go?"
"Now," said Dick. "I must catch the train at noon."
Helen's manner did not encourage any indulgence in sentiment and he half
resented this, although it made things easier. He could not say he had
come to give her up, because there had been no formal engagement. Still
he had expected some sign of pity or regret.
"You don't defend yourself," she remarked thoughtfully. "Couldn't you
have fought it out?"
"There was nothing to fight for. I lost the papers I was trusted with;
one can't get over that."
"But people may imagine you did something worse." She paused for a moment
and added: "Don't you care what I might think?"
Dick looked at her steadily. "You ought to know. Do you believe it's
possible I stole and meant to sell the plans?"
"No," she said with a touch of color. "But I would have liked you, for
your friends' sake, to try to clear yourself. If you had lost the papers,
they would have been found and sent back; as they were not, it looks as
if you had been robbed."
That she could reason this out calmly struck Dick as curious, although he
had long known that Helen was ruled by her brain and not her heart.
"I've been careless and there's nothing to be done but take my
punishment."
She gave him a keen glance. "Are you hiding something, Dick? It's your
duty to tell all that you suspect."
Dick winced. Helen was right; it was his duty, but he was not going to
carry it out. He began to see what this meant, but his resolution did not
falter.
"If I knew I'd been robbed, it would be different, but I don't, and if I
blamed people who were found to be innocent, I'd only make matters worse
for myself."
"I suppose that's true," she agreed coldly. "However, you have made your
choice and it's too late now. Where are you going, Dick?"
"To New York by the first boat from Liverpool."
He waited, watching her and wondering whether she would ask him to stop,
but she said quietly: "Well, I shall, no doubt, hear how you get on."
"It's unlikely," he answered in a hard voice. "I've lost my friends with
my character. The best thing I can do is to leave them alone."
Then he looked at his watch, and she gave him her hand. "For all that, I
wish you good luck, Dick."