Isa was obliged to confess that she had heard of none, and Miss Minorkey proceeded like a judge to explain to Miss Marlay how strong the evidence against him was.  And then she said she thought the warrant had been taken, not from cupidity, but from a desire to serve Katy.  It was a pity the law could not see it in that way.  But all the time Isa protested with vehemence that she did not believe a word of it.  Not one word.  All the judges and juries and witnesses in the world could not convince her of Albert’s guilt.  Because she knew him, and she just knew that he couldn’t do it, you see.

Miss Minorkey said it had made her father sick.  “I’ve gone with Mr. Charlton so much, you know, that it has made talk,” she said.  “And father feels bad about it.  And”—­seeing the expression of Isa’s countenance, she concluded that it would not do to be quite so secretive—­“and, to tell you the truth, I did like him.  But of course that is all over.  Of course there couldn’t be anything between us after this, even if he were innocent.”

Isa grew indignant, and she no longer needed the support of religious faith and high moral principle to enable her to plead the cause of Albert Charlton with Miss Minorkey.

“But I thought you loved him,” she said, with just a spice of bitterness.  “The poor fellow believes that you love him.”

Miss Minorkey winced a little.  “Well, you know, some people are sentimental, and others are not.  It is a good thing for me that I’m not one of those that pine away and die after anybody.  I suppose I am not worthy of a high-toned man, such as he seemed to be.  I have often told him so.  I am sure I never could marry a man that had been in the penitentiary, if he were ever so innocent.  Now, could you.  Miss Marlay?”

Isabel blushed, and said she could if he were innocent.  She thought a woman ought to stand by the man she loved to the death, if he were worthy.  But Helen only sighed humbly, and said that she never was made for a heroine.  She didn’t even like to read about high-strung people in novels.  She supposed it was her fault—­people had to be what they were, she supposed.  Miss Marlay must excuse her, though.  She hadn’t quite got her books packed, and the stage would be along in an hour.  She would be glad if Isabel would tell Mr. Charlton privately, if she had a chance, how sorry she felt for him.  But please not say anything that would compromise her, though.

And Isa Marlay went out of the hotel full of indignation at the cool-blooded Helen, and full of a fathomless pity for Albert, a pity that made her almost love him herself.  She would have loved to atone for all Miss Minorkey’s perfidy.  And just alongside of her pity for Charlton thus deserted, crept in a secret joy.  For there was now none to stand nearer friend to Albert than herself.