And it did not even occur to her now as she sat perched uncomfortably
on the chair in the night of desolation. She was now deeply ashamed
of the lie--and she ought not to have been ashamed, for it was a lie
magnanimous and fine; she might rather have taken pride in it. She was
especially ashamed of her repetition of the lie on the following day
to Thomas Batchgrew, and of her ingenious embroidery upon it. She
hated to remember that she had wept violently in front of Thomas
Batchgrew when he had charged her with having a secret about the loss
of the notes. He must have well known that she was lying; he must
have suspected her of some complicity; and if later he had affected to
ignore all the awkward aspects of the episode it was only because he
wished to remain on good terms with Louis for his own ends.
Had she herself all the time suspected Louis? In the harsh realism
of the night hours she was not able positively to assert that she
had never suspected him until after Julian's confession had made her
think; but, on the other hand, she would not directly accuse herself
of having previously suspected him. The worst that she could say was
that she had been determined to believe him guiltless.
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