After a fortnight he could give me no more than a stroke a hole,
and when, with this allowance, I once managed to beat him by one,
he was honestly glad, and assured me that I should be a golfer if
I stuck to it. I was sticking to it for my own ends, but now and
again my conscience pricked me; for the man was a nice man.
Between games he supplied me with odd pieces of evidence, such as
that he had known the Moultries all his life, being their cousin,
and that Miss Mary, the eldest, was an unforgiving woman who
would never let bygones be. I naturally wondered what she might
have against him; and somehow connected him unfavourably with mad
Agnes.
"People ought to forgive and forget," he volunteered one day
between rounds. "Specially where, in the nature of things, they
can't be sure of their deductions. Don't you think so?"
"It all depends on the nature of the evidence on which one forms
one's judgment," I answered.
"Nonsense!" he cried. "I'm lawyer enough to know that there's
nothing in the world so misleading as circumstantial evidence.
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