Brandon of the Engineers

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."