l take something to drink, won't
you?"

"No, thank you," I protested.

"But you must have something. I'm sorry I have no whisky to offer you,
but I have some rather decent port," and disregarding my repeated
protests, she rang the bell, whereupon the young man who had admitted
me--whom I now found to my surprise to be a servant--entered and bowed.

"Bring some port," his mistress ordered, and a few moments later he
reappeared with a decanter and glasses upon a silver tray.

She poured me out a glass, but refused to have any herself.

"No, no," she laughed, "at my time of life port wine would only make me
fat--and Heaven knows I'm growing horribly stout now. You don't know, Mr.
Royle, what horror we women have of stoutness. In men it is a sign of
ease and prosperity, in women it is suggestive of alcoholism and puts ten
years on their ages."

Out of politeness, I raised my glass to her and drank. Her demeanour had
altered, and we were now becoming friends, a fact which delighted me,
for I saw I might, by the exercise of a little judicious diplomacy, act
so as to secure protection for Phrida.

While we were chatting, I suddenly heard the engine of my taxi started,
and the clutch put in with a jerk.

"Why!" I exclaimed, surprised. "I believe that's my taxi going away. I
hope the man isn't tired of waiting!"

"No. I think it is my servant. I 'phoned for a cab for her, as I want her
to take a message into Colchester," Mrs. Petre replied. Then, settling
herself in the big chair, she asked:

"Now, why can't we be friends, Mr. Royle?"

"That I am only too anxious to be," I declared.

"It is only your absurd infatuation for Phrida Shand that prevents you,"
she said. "Ah!" she sighed. "How grossly that girl has deceived you!"

I bit my lip. My suspicions were surely bitter enough without the sore
being re-opened by this woman.

Had not Phrida's admissions been a self-condemnation to which, even
though loving her as fervently as I did, I could not altogether blind
myself.

I did not speak. My heart was too full, and strangely enough my head
seemed swimming, but certainly not on account of the wine I had drunk,
for I had not swallowed more than half the glass contained.

The little room seemed to suddenly become stifling. Yet that woman with
the dark eyes seemed to watch me intently as I sat there, watch me with a
strange, deep, evil glance--an expression of fierce animosity which even
at that moment she could no