Then he recollected the one end to all these conversations, and his momentary regret was swept away by a rush of sympathy which it did him good to feel.

They had ended invariably in her obtaining from him, on one cunning pretext or another, a fresh assurance of his belief in Mrs.
Minchin's innocence.

Langholm radiated among his roses as his memory convinced him of this.

Rachel had not talked about her case and his plot for the morbid excitement of discussing herself with another, but for the solid and wholesome satisfaction of hearing yet again that the other disbelieved in her guilt.
And did he not?
Langholm stood still in the scented dusk as he asked his heart of hearts the point-blank question.

And it was a crisper step that he resumed, with a face more radiant than before.
Yes, analytical as he was, there at least he was satisfied with himself.
Thank God, he had always been of one opinion on that one point; that he had made up his mind about her long before he knew the whilom Mrs.
Minchin in the flesh, and had let her know which way almost as long before the secret of her identity could possibly have dawned upon him.
Now, if the worst came to the worst, his sincerity at least could not be questioned.