t his companion's grief, reflected,
soberly enough, that sweet and pretty girls were as human as the rest of
creation, if it came to that.

"Charlie Turold--my nephew, you know--will have it that she is innocent."

"In spite of her disappearance?"

"Yes. He came this morning, before I was up, to see if I knew where Sisily
had gone. After tea he came again in a terrible state, raving against the
detective for taking out a warrant for her arrest. He said it was madness
on his part to imagine that a girl like Sisily would kill her father. I
told him that as Sisily had disappeared he could hardly blame the police
for looking for her. He turned on me when I said that, and used such
violent language that I was quite frightened of him. But I make
allowances, of course."

"Why?" the lawyer asked, looking at her.

"I think Charlie is very fond of Sisily," murmured Mrs. Pendleton with
womanly intuition.

"Do you mean that they love each other?" said the lawyer, regarding her
attentively.

"I cannot say about Sisily. And I never guessed it of Charlie until this
morning. I'm sure poor Robert had no idea of it. He would never have
agreed--after what he told us on the day of the funeral, I mean."

Mr. Brimsdown gave a tacit unspoken assent to that. Some men might have
welcomed such a solution of an ugly family scandal, but not Robert Turold,
with his fierce pride for the honour of the title which he had sought to
gain.

"Is your nephew's belief in Miss Turold's innocence based on anything
stronger than assertion? Does he suspect any one else?"

"He did not say so. He was very excited, and talked on and on, without
listening to me in the least. He seems very impulsive and headstrong. I
noticed that on the day of the funeral. When Robert told us about his
marriage, Charles said to him that his first duty was to his daughter.
Robert looked so angry."

"I can well believe it," murmured the lawyer. "The young man must have
courage."

"Oh yes, he served with distinction in the war," Mrs. Pendleton innocently
rejoined. "In temperament he takes after me, I think, more than after his
father. Austin and I never did think alike. We even disagreed over poor
Robert's terrible death. Austin thought he had ... destroyed himself." Her
voice dropped to a shocked whisper.

"On what grounds did he base that belief?" Mr. Brimsdown cautiously asked.

"He thought the circumstances pointed to it," she rejoined. "But I knew
better--I knew