uld hear with varying distinctness what those friendly voices
were so absorbedly discussing. His ear seemed as exquisite as some
contrivance of science, registering passively the least sound, the
faintest syllable, and like it, in no sense meddling with the thought
that speech conveyed. He simply stood listening, fixed and motionless,
like some uncouth statue in the leafy hollow of a garden, stony,
unspeculating.

'Oh, but you either refuse to believe, Bettie, or you won't understand
that it's far worse than that.' Sheila seemed to be upbraiding, or at
least reasoning with, the last speaker. 'Ask Mr Danton--he actually SAW
him.'

'"Saw him,"' repeated a thick, still voice. 'He stood there, in that
very doorway, Mrs Lovat, and positively railed at me. He stood there
and streamed out all the names he could lay his tongue to. I
wasn't--unfriendly to the poor beggar. When Bethany let me into it
I thought it was simply--I did indeed, Mrs Lawford--a monstrous
exaggeration. Flatly, I didn't believe it; shall I say that? But when I
stood face to face with him, I could have taken my oath that that was no
more poor old Arthur Lawford than--well, I won't repeat what particular
word occurred to me. But there,' the corpulent shrug was almost audible,
'we all know what old Bethany is. A sterling old chap, mind you, so far
as mere character is concerned; the right man in the right place; but as
gullible and as soft-hearted as a tom-tit. I've said all this before, I
know, Mrs Lawford, and been properly snubbed for my pains. But if I
had been Bethany I'd have sifted the whole story at the beginning,
the moment he put his foot into the house. Look at that Tichborne
fellow--went for months and months, just picking up one day what he
floored old Hawkins--wasn't it?--with the next. But of course,' he added
gloomily, 'now that's all too late. He's moaned himself into a tolerably
tight corner. I'd just like to see, though, a British jury comparing
this claimant with his photograph, 'pon my word I would. Where would he
be then, do you think?'

'But my dear Mr Danton,' went on the clear, languid voice Lawford had
heard break so light-heartedly into laughter, 'you don't mean to tell me
that a woman doesn't know her own husband when she sees him--or, for the
matter of that, when she doesn't see him? If Tom came home from a ramble
as handsome as Apollo to-morrow, I'd recognise him at the very first
blush--literally! He'd go nuzzling off to get