“There I argue that, once the offence has been expiated, all the privileges should be restored.  But if Pettifer is right there has been no expiation.”

That saving clause let him out.  He did not thus phrase the position even to himself.  He clothed it in other and high-sounding words.  It was after all a sort of convention to accept acquittal as the proof of innocence.  But at the back of his mind from first to last there was an immense fear of the figure which he himself would cut if he refused his consent to the marriage on any ground except that of Stella Ballantyne’s guilt.  For Stella herself, the woman, he had no kindness to spare that morning.  Yesterday he had overflowed with it.  For yesterday she had been one more proof to the world how high he soared above it.

“Since Pettifer’s in doubt,” he said to himself, “there must be some flaw in this trial which I overlooked in the heat of my sympathy”; and to discover that flaw he read again every printed detail of it from the morning when Stella first appeared before the stipendiary magistrate to that other morning a month later when the verdict was given.  And he found no flaw.  Stella’s acquittal was inevitable on the evidence.  There was much to show what provocation she had suffered, but there was no proof that she had yielded to it.  On the contrary she had endured so long, the presumption must be that she would go on enduring to the end.  And there was other evidence—­positive evidence given by Thresk which could not be gainsaid.

Mr. Hazlewood replaced his cuttings in the drawer; and he was utterly discontented.  He had hoped for another result.  There was only one point which puzzled him and that had nothing really to do with the trial, but it puzzled him so much that it slipped out at luncheon.

“Richard,” he said, “I cannot understand why the name of Thresk is so familiar to me.”

Dick glanced quickly at his father.

“You have been reading over again the accounts of the trial.”

Mr. Hazlewood looked confused.

“And a very natural proceeding, Richard,” he declared.  “But while reading over the trial I found the name Thresk familiar to me in another connection, but I cannot remember what the connection is.”

Dick could not help him, nor was he at that time concerned by the failure of his father’s memory.  He was engaged in realising that here was another enemy for Stella.  Knowing his father, he was not greatly surprised, but he thought it prudent to attack without delay.

“Stella will be coming over to tea this afternoon,” he said.

“Will she, Richard?” the father replied, twisting uncomfortably in his chair.  “Very well—­of course.”

“Hubbard knows of my engagement, by the way,” Dick continued implacably.

“Hubbard!  God bless my soul!” cried the old man.  “It’ll be all over the village already.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Dick cheerfully.  “I told him before I saw you this morning, whilst I was having breakfast.”