He dropped his long envelope in the slot labeled _North_, and turned his
footsteps toward Duke of Gloucester Street again.
Within him understanding had broken painfully into flame. Miss Weyland
believed that he was the author of the unforgivable editorial--_he_, who
had so gladly given, first the best abilities he had, and then his
position itself, to the cause of Eva Bernheimer. West had seen her, and
either through deliberate falseness or his characteristic fondness for
shying off from disagreeable subjects--Queed felt pretty sure it was the
latter--had failed to reveal the truth. West's motives did not matter in
the least. The terrible situation in which he himself had been placed
was all that mattered, and that he must straighten out at once. What
dumbness had seized his tongue just now he could not imagine. But it was
plain that, however much he would have preferred not to see the girl at
all, this meeting had made another one immediately necessary: he must
see her at once, to-night, and clear himself wholly of this cruel
suspicion. And yet ... he could never clear himself of her _having_
suspected him; he understood that, and it seemed to him a terrible
thing.
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