She pauses and sighs heavily, and folds her fingers tightly together. Not Stephen, nor Roger, but this dishonored brother, is the love of her life--as yet. "Of course you heard a good deal about it in town," she says, sadly. "He had many friends there at one time. Fair-weather friends! They, as a rule, are cruellest when evil comes; and they never remember. You heard him often discussed?" This is a downright question to which Portia is constrained to give an answer. "Yes; often," she says, sorely against her will. "Aunt Maud would enlarge upon it, of course," says Dulce, bitterly. "She likes whisperings and slanderous tongues. And you, when first you heard it, what did you think?" Portia shrinks from her. Must she answer this question, too? "Think?" she says, evasively. "Yes; what did you think of Fabian?" "Very little," says Portia, who has grown quite white; "why should I think at all? I did not know him then. It was most natural, was it not? He was a stranger to me." "A stranger, yes. But still your cousin--your own blood. I should have thought much, I think. It was natural, I daresay, but even _then_--you must recollect--did you believe in him? Did you guess the truth?" "I don't think I quite understand," said Portia, faintly. Dulce, in a vague fashion, takes note of her confusion. "Not understand! But it is such a simple matter," she says, in a changed tone. She looks puzzled, surprised, and a distressed look comes into her eyes. "I mean even _then_, did you believe him innocent?" "How can I remember?" says Portia, drawing her breath quickly. The distrust grows upon Dulce's tell-tale face. She comes a step nearer to her cousin. "No," she says, slowly--her eyes are fixed attentively upon Portia--"it is some time ago. But you can at least tell me _this_. Now--_now_--that you know him--when you have been beneath the same roof with him for some months, how is it with you? You _feel_ that he is innocent?" There is a terrible amount of almost agonized earnestness in her tone. "How you catechise one," says Portia, with a painfully bald attempt at indifference that does not impose upon the slowly awakening suspicions of the other for one instant. "Let us change the subject." "In one moment. I want an answer to my question first. Now that you have seen and known Fabian, do you believe him innocent?"