as she hesitated. "Unpleasantly sharp
and energetic, I should say. Although it is, perhaps, hardly fair to
judge a man labouring under the stress of a brother's tragic death."

"He is determined to get to the explanation of the mystery?" The tinge of
excitement she had exhibited in her former question had now passed away:
she now spoke in her habitual cold, even tone.

"He says so. Naturally he will do all he can to that end. Of course it
would be a satisfaction to know for certain how the tragedy came about:
not that it matters much otherwise. But unfortunately he rather poses as
an expert in criminology, and that will make for pertinacity."

For a moment Miss Morriston kept silent. "It is very unfortunate," she
murmured at length. "It will worry poor old Dick horribly. I think he is
already beginning to wish he had never seen Wynford."

Gifford leaned forward. "Oh, but, my dear Miss Morriston," he said
earnestly, "you and your brother must really not take the matter so
seriously. It is all very unpleasant, one must admit, but, after all,
except that it happened in your house, I don't see that it affects you."

"You think not," Miss Morriston responded mechanically.

"Indeed I think so." As he spoke Gifford could not help a slight feeling
of wonder that this girl, from whom he would have expected an attitude
rather of indifference, should allow herself to be so greatly worried by
the affair. For that she was far more troubled than she allowed to appear
he was certain. It is her pride, he told himself. A high-bred girl like
this would naturally hate the very idea of a sensational scandal under
her roof, and all its unpleasant, rather sordid accompaniments. "I wish,"
he added with a touch of fervour, "that I could persuade you to dismiss
any fear of annoyance from your mind."

"I wish you could," she responded dully, with an attempt at a smile.
Suddenly she turned to him with more animation in her manner than she had
hitherto shown. "Mr. Gifford, you--I--" she hesitated as though at a loss
how to put what she wished to say; "I have no right to ask you, who are a
comparative stranger, to help us in this--this worry, but if you cared
to be of assistance I am sure you could."

"Of course, of course I will," he answered with eager gladness. "Only let
me know what you wish and you may command the very utmost I can do. And
please don't think of me as a stranger."

Edith Morriston smiled, and to Gifford it was the most