"I do not feel bound to tell you that," she said, in a low voice.
"I have a right to know it," he responded firmly.
And after a moment she gave in. The man was probably far away by this
time. She knew that the fair was over.
"It was--the old snake-charmer."
"The man we saw at Farabad?"
"Yes."
Fletcher received the information in silence, and several seconds
dragged away while he digested it. She even began to wonder if he meant
to say anything further, almost expecting him to get up and stalk away,
too furious for speech.
But at length, very unexpectedly and very quietly, he spoke.
"Would it be of any use for me to protest my innocence?"
She did not know how to answer him.
He proceeded with scarcely a pause:
"It seems to me that my guilt has been taken for granted in such a
fashion that any attempt on my part to clear myself would be so much
wasted effort. It simply remains for you to pass sentence."
She lifted her head for the first time, startled out of all composure.
His cool treatment of the matter was more disconcerting than any
vehement protestations. It was almost as though he acknowledged the
offence and swept it aside with the same breath as of no account. Yet it
was incredible, this view of the case. There must be some explanation.
He would never dare to insult her thus.
Impulsively she rose, inaction becoming unendurable.
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