nk,' he added
boldly, 'a very uncommon name; with two b's at any rate. Whereabouts is
the grave?'

'Quite down at the bottom, under the trees. And the little seat I told
you of is there, too, where I fell asleep. You see,' he explained, 'the
grave's almost isolated; I suppose because he killed himself.'

Mr Bethany clasped his knuckled fingers on the tablecloth. 'It's no
good,' he concluded after a long pause; 'the fellow's got up into
my head. I can't think him out. We must thrash it out quietly in the
morning with the blessed sun at the window; not this farthing dip. To
me the whole idea is as revolting as it is incredible. Why, above a
century--no, no! And on the other hand, how easily one's fancy builds! A
few straws and there's a nest and squawking fledglings, all complete.
Is that why--is that why that good, practical wife of yours and all your
faithful household have absconded? Does it'--he threw up his head as if
towards the house above them--'does it REEK with him?'

Lawford shook his head. 'She hasn't seen him: not--not apart. I haven't
told her.'

Mr Bethany tossed the hugger-mugger of pamphlets across the table.
'Then, for simple sanity's sake, don't. Hide it; burn it; put the thing
completely out of your mind. A friend! Who, where is this wonderful
friend?'

'Not very far from Widderstone. He lives--practically alone.'

'And all that stumbling and muttering on the stairs?' he leant forward
almost threateningly. 'There isn't anybody here, Lawford?'

'Oh, no,' said Lawford. 'We are practically alone with this, you know,'
he pointed to the book, and smiled frankly, however faintly.

Again Mr Bethany sank into a fixed yet uneasy reverie, and again shook
himself and raised his eyes.

'Well then,' he said, in a voice all but morose in its fretfullness,
'what I suggest is that first you keep quiet here; and next, that you
write and get your wife back. You say you are better. I think you said
she herself noticed a slight improvement. Isn't it just exactly as I
foresaw? And yet she's gone! But that's not our business. Get her back.
And don't for a single instant waste a thought on the other; not for a
single instant, I implore you, Lawford. And in a week the whole thing
will be no more than a dreary, preposterous dream.... You don't answer
me!' he cried impulsively.

'But can one so easily forget a dream like this?'

'You don't speak out, Lawford; you mean SHE won't.'

'It must at least seem to have b