my solicitor's office was closed on the holiday. Mr.
Capella called on me, by request, the day after the ball, and already I
became aware of his admiration. Italians are quick to fall in love."

"And afterwards?"

"When poor Alan's murder appeared in the press, Giovanni was among the
first to write me a sympathetic letter. Later on we met several times in
London. I did not come to reside in the Hall until all legal formalities
were settled. A year passed. I went to Naples. He came from his estate in
Calabria, and we renewed our friendship. You do not know, perhaps, that he
is a count in his own country, but we decided not to use the title here."

"Then Mr. Capella is not a poor man?"

"By no means. He is far from rich as we understand the word. He is worth,
I believe, L1,500 a-year. Why do you ask? Had you the impression that he
married me for my money?"

"There might well be other reasons," thought Brett, glancing at the
beautiful and stately woman by his side. But it was no moment for idle
compliments.

"Such things have been done," he said drily.

"Then disabuse your mind of the idea. He is a very proud man. His estates
are involved, and in our first few days of happiness we did indeed discuss
the means of freeing them, whilst our marriage contract stipulates that in
the event of either of us predeceasing the other, and there being no
children, the survivor inherits. But all at once a cloud came between us,
and Giovanni has curtly declined any assistance by me in discharging his
family debt."

Brett could not help remembering Capella's passionate declaration to
Helen, but Margaret's words read a new meaning into it. Possibly the
Italian was only making a forlorn hope attack on a country maiden's
natural desire to shine amidst her friends. Well, time would tell.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Capella's outburst of confidence was valuable.

"A cloud!" he said. "What sort of a cloud?"

"Giovanni suddenly discovered that his father and mine were deadly
enemies. It was a cruel whim of Fate that brought us together. Poor
fellow! He was very fond of his father, and it seems that a legacy of
revenge was bequeathed to him against an Englishman named Beechcroft. I
remembered, too late, that he once asked me how our house came to be so
named, and I explained its English meaning to him. I joked about it, and
said the place should rightly be called Yewcroft. During our honeymoon at
Naples he learnt that my father, for some reason,