humanity. And then there crossed her mind the
recollection that she had caught John in a wicked act on the previous
night. Yes; he had not imposed on her for a moment; and she perceived
clearly now that murder had been in his heart. She was not appalled nor
desolated. She thought: 'So that is murder, that little thing, that
thing over in a minute!' It appeared to her that murder in the concrete
was less dreadful than murder in the abstract, far less horrible than
the strident sound of the word on the lips of a newsboy, or the look of
it in the 'Signal.' She felt dimly that she ought to be shocked,
unnerved, terrified, at the prospect of living, eating, and sleeping
with a man who had meant to kill. But she could not summon these
sensations. She merely experienced a kind of pity for John. She put the
episode away from her, as being closed, accidental, and unimportant.
Uncle Meshach was alive.

A few minutes before four o'clock, she went quietly into the sick-room.
Bessie, sitting upright between the beds, put her finger to her lips.
Uncle Meshach was asleep on Ethel's bed, and on the other bed lay Rose,
also asleep, stretched in a negligent attitude, but fully dressed and
wearing an old black frock that was too tight for her. The fire burned
brightly.

'Tea is ready in the drawing-room, ma'am,' Bessie whispered, 'and Mr.
Twemlow has just called. He's waiting to see you.'

* * * * *

'So you know what has happened to us?'

'Yes,' he said, 'I met your husband on St. Luke's Square. But I heard
something before that. At one o'clock, a man told me at Knype Station
that Mr. Myatt had cut his throat on your doorstep. I didn't believe it.
So I called up Twemlow & Stanway over the 'phone and got on to the
facts.'

'What things people say!' she exclaimed.

'I guess you've stood it very well,' he remarked, gazing at her, as with
quick, sure movements of her gracile hands she poured out the tea.

'Ah!' she murmured, flushing, 'they sent me to bed. I have only just got
up.'

'I know exactly when you went to bed,' he smiled.

His tone filled her with satisfaction. She had hoped and expected that
he would behave naturally, that he would not adopt the desolating
attitude of gloom prescribed by convention for sympathisers with the
bereaved; and she was not disappointed. He spoke with an easy and
cheerful sincerity, and she was exquisitely conscious of the flattery
implied in that simple, direc