The lonely months wore on very slowly for Basil. At first the notion of
heroism and the conviction that he was performing a most noble and
chivalrous deed sustained him; but there was a fund of common sense in
his character, and this common sense suggested to him that instead of
being a hero, he had been the dupe of a wily coquette. Not at first did
this idea strike him; not until long, dreary weeks had passed, and she
had never sent him even one message of thanks or sympathy. He was very
angry with the idea at first, thinking it quite a false one, but
gradually he awakened to the conviction that it was true.
Then his fortitude forsook him, and it was some consolation to hear from
Mr. Forster that what the kind-hearted lawyer called his
misrepresentations had been effectual. People had almost forgotten that
little paragraph that had one morning taken London by storm.
"I have denied it so constantly and emphatically," he said, "that my
words have been believed. As soon as you get out of here, make haste
abroad, then all may be well."
Even he could not help seeing how entirely the light and brightness had
faded from the young face.
"I have never said anything to you," said Mr. Forster, one morning, "but
I have a certain conviction, Mr, Carruthers, that there is some woman in
this; you are here for a woman's sake and to screen her from blame; if
so, it is useless asking you to tell the truth, I know, but make the
best of it; get out of this as soon as you can.
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