"Oh," she said, "I do not suppose--I know! I have known all the time. I have seen it in a hundred ways, only they were ways that one cannot put into words. But now something has happened that anybody can see, and that can be told--something _has_ been seen and told!" She looked up at Frank--those deep, burning eyes of hers full of indignation. He said: "Tell me just what you mean. What has happened, and who has seen it?" "It was yesterday, in the woods--the woods between here and the camp on the Au Sable. They were sitting as we are, and he held her hand, and she had been crying. And when they parted he said to her, 'We must tell them. You must get Mrs. Deane's consent. I am sure Edith suspects something, and it isn't right to go on like this. We must tell them.' Then--then he kissed her. That--of course----" The girl's voice broke and she could not continue. Frank waited a moment, then he said: "And who witnessed this scene?" "Mrs. Kitcher." "You mean the little woman who dresses in black?" "Yes, that is the one." "And you would believe that tale-bearing eavesdropper?" "I must. I have seen so much myself." "Then, let me say this. I believe that most of what she told you is false. She may have seen them together. She may have seen him take her hand. I know that Miss Deane told Robin something yesterday that related to his past life, and that it was a sad tale. It might easily bring the tears, and she would give him her hand as an old friend. There may have been something said about his telling you, for there is no reason why you should not know the story. It is merely of an old man who is dead, and who knew Robin's mother. So far as anything further, I believe that woman invented it purely to make mischief. One who will spy and listen will do more. I would not believe her on oath--nor must you, either." But Edith still shook her head. "Oh, you don't know!" she persisted. "There has been much besides. It is all a part of the rest. You have not a woman's intuition, and Robin has not a woman's skill in deceiving. There is something--I know there is something--I have seen it all along. And, oh, what should Robin keep from me?" "Have you spoken to him of it?" "Once--about the time you came--he laughed at me. I would hardly mention it again." "Yet it seems to me that would be the thing to do," Frank reflected aloud. "At least, you can ask him about the story told him by Miss Deane. You--you may say I mentioned it." Edith regarded him in amaze. "And you think I could do that--that I could ask him of anything that he did not tell me of his own accord? Will you ask Miss Deane about that meeting in the woods?" Frank shook his head. "I do not need to do so. I know about it." She looked at him quickly--puzzled for the moment as to his meaning--wondering if he, too, might be a part of a conspiracy against her happiness. Then she said, comprehending: