as so strange, but he wouldn't
have done it unless it was true--he told me that he wasn't Lord Tristram
really, and that I----" Her eyes travelled quickly over their faces,
and she re-read the letter. "Do you know anything about it?" she
demanded imperiously. "Tell me, do you know what he means by this letter
and whether what he says is true?"

"We know what he means," answered Iver gravely, "and we know that it's
true."

"Have you known it long?" she asked.

Iver glanced at Duplay and Neeld. It was Neeld who answered gently:
"Some of us have been sure of it for some time. But----" He looked at
Mina before he went on. "But we didn't intend to speak."

Cecily stood there, seeming to consider and for a moment meeting Mina's
intense gaze which had never left her face.

"Had he known for long?" was her next question.

It met with no immediate answer. Duplay rose abruptly and walked to the
mantelpiece; he leant his arm on it and turned half away from the group
at the table.

"Had he known for long?" Cecily repeated.

"Ever so long," answered Mina Zabriska in a low voice, but very
confidently.

"Ah, he was waiting till Lady Tristram died?"

Iver nodded; he thought what she suggested a very good explanation to
accept. It was plausible and sensible; it equipped Harry Tristram with a
decent excuse for his past silence, and a sound reason for the moment of
his disclosure. He looked at Neeld and found ready acquiescence in the
old gentleman's approving nod. But Mina broke out impatiently--

"No, no, that had nothing to do with it. He never meant to speak. Blent
was all the world to him. He never meant to speak." A quick remembrance
flashed across her. "Were you with him in the Long Gallery last night?"
she cried. "With him there for hours?"

"Yes, we were there."

"Yes, I saw you from the terrace here. Did he tell you there?"

"He told me there." There was embarrassment as well as wonder in her
manner now.

"Well then, you must know why he told you. We don't know." Mina was very
peevish.

"Is it any use asking----?" Iver began. An unceremoniously impatient and
peremptory wave of Mina's arm reduced him to silence. Her curiosity left
no room for his prudent counsels of reticence.

"What were you doing in the Gallery?" demanded Mina.

"I was looking at all the things there and--and admiring them. He came
up presently and--I don't remember that he said very much. He watched
me; then he asked me if I loved the t