in front of her, save when she raised them to flash them for an instant
at Olva. He found this sudden gaze extraordinarily disconcerting; it was
as though she were reasserting her claim to some common understanding
that existed between them, to some secret that belonged to them alone.

They avoided, for the most part, Carfax's death. Once Margaret Craven
said: "One of the most astonishing things about anything of this kind
seems to me the bravery of the murderer--the bravery I mean that is
demanded of any one during the days between the crime and his arrest.
To be in possession of that tremendous secret, to be at war, as it
were, with the world, and yet to lead, in all probability, an ordinary
life--that demands courage."

"One may accustom oneself to anything," Mrs. Craven said. Her voice was
deep and musical, and her words seemed to linger almost like an echo in
the air.

Olva thought as he looked at Margaret Craven that there was a strength
there that could face anything; it was more than courage; it might,
under certain circumstances, become fanaticism. But he knew that whereas
Mrs. Craven stirred in him a deep restlessness and disquiet, Margaret
Craven quieted and soothed him, almost, it seemed, deliberately, as
though she knew that he was in trouble.

He said: "I should think that his worst enemy, if he have any
imagination at all, must be his loneliness. I can conceive that the
burden of the secret, even though there be no chance whatever of
discovery, must make that loneliness intolerable."

Here Rupert Craven interrupted as though he were longing to break away
from the subject.

"You played the finest game of your life this afternoon, Dune. I
never saw anything like that last try of yours. Whymper was on the
touch-line--I saw him. The 'Varsity's certain to try you again on
Saturday."

"I've been slack too long," Olva said, laughing. "I never enjoyed
anything more than this afternoon."

"I played the most miserable game I've ever played--couldn't get this
beastly thing out of my head."

Olva felt as though he were almost at the end of his endurance. At that
moment he thought that he would have preferred them to burst the doors
and arrest him. He had never known such fatigue. If he could sleep he
did not care what happened to him.

The rest of the evening seemed a dream. The dark, crowded drawing-room
flickered in the light from the crackling fire. Mrs. Craven, in her
stiff chair, never moving her ey