She was watching them all through her handkerchief, which she was using to dab her eyes; of Longstreet she never for an instant lost sight.  She saw the eagerness in his eyes and knew that it was an eagerness to believe in her.  She saw Helen’s anger and contempt; she saw Carr’s black looks; she saw, too, how Howard kept his eyes always on Helen’s face, and she read what was so easy to read in them.  It was her business, her chief affair in life just now, to keep her two eyes wide open; hence she saw, too, the look which Helen had flashed at the cattleman.  And while she observed all of this she was speaking rapidly, almost incoherently, as though her one concern lay in the tragic error she had made.  Had she been less than a very clever woman who had long lived, and lived well, by her wits, she must have found the situation too much for her.  But no one of her hearers, excepting possibly the one chiefly interested, failed to do Sanchia Murray justice for her cleverness.  As it was, she did not fear the outcome from the outset.

She told how she had been so overjoyed at Longstreet’s news; how, for that dear child Helen’s sake, she had rejoiced; how she had for a little felt less lonely in sharing a secret meant for a wonderful birthday surprise; how she had yearned to help in this glowing hour of happiness.  She had tried to help Mr. Longstreet with Mr. Harkness at the court-house; she had learned that he was out of town; she had been told that his assistant was at the Montezuma House.  In spite of her abhorrence of going to such a place she had gone, carried away by the high tide of excitement.  And there she had been tricked into introducing Mr. Longstreet to no less a terrible creature than Monte Devine.  She hastened to add that she told Mr. Longstreet that she did not know this man; he would bear her out in this; she too had been tricked.  But she would never, never forgive herself.

‘Nor,’ said Helen’s voice coldly, ’will I ever forgive you.  Nor am I the fool to believe all these tales.  Maybe you can make a fool of my father, but——­’

‘Helen, Helen,’ expostulated Longstreet sternly, ’you are being hasty.  At times like this one should seek to be kind and just.’

Again Helen’s sniff was audible and eloquent.

‘Do you mean,’ she demanded, ‘that you believe all of this nonsense?’

’I mean, my dear, that one should be deliberate.  Mrs. Murray has made an explanation, she is plainly sick with grief at what has occurred.  She has ridden straight to us.  What more could one do?  When you are older, my dear, and have seen more of life you will know that the world sometimes makes terrible mistakes.’

‘You are so great-hearted!’ sobbed Sanchia.  ’So wonderful!  There is not another man in the world who would be even tolerant at a time like this.  And to think that it is you—­you whom I have hurt.’  Her sobs overcame her.

Helen flung herself angrily to her feet.