" said the white-haired man still courteously. "You perhaps
were not aware that your presence might be an--er, an intrusion."

Again Trix coloured.

"A man did tell me I couldn't come through this way," she confessed.

"Yet he allowed you to do so?" There was a queer note beneath the
courtesy.

Trix's ear, catching the note, found it almost repellant.

"It wasn't his fault," she declared. "I came. I said, 'Isn't there
someone at the gate?' And while he turned to look, I ran. At least,--" a
gleam of laughter sprang to her eyes--"I sneezed first, so it sounded
like 'There's somebody at the gate.' So he thought there was really.
It--it was rather mean of me."

"What you might call an acted lie," suggested the man.

Trix looked conscience-stricken, contrite.

"I suppose it was," she admitted in a very small voice. "But it was the
cows. Only I think they were bulls. I _am_ so frightened of cows. I
couldn't go back. And he wasn't going to let me through. It wasn't his
fault a bit, it wasn't really. I know I told a--a kind of lie." She
sighed heavily.

"You did," said the man.

Again Trix sighed.

"I'd never make a martyr, would I? Only"--a degree more hopefully--"A
sneeze isn't quite like denying real things, things that matter, is it?"
This last was spoken distinctly appealingly.

"I'm not a theologian," said the man dryly.

Trix looked at him. A sudden light of illumination passed over her face,
giving place to absolute amazement.

"Aren't you Mr. Danver?" she ejaculated.

"I never heard of his being a theologian," was the retort.

"But Mr. Danver is dead!" gasped Trix.

"Is he?"

"Well," said Trix dazed, bewildered, "he evidently isn't. But why on
earth did you--" she broke off.

"Did I what?" he demanded with a queer smile.

"Say you were dead?" asked Trix.

"Dead men, my dear young lady, tell no tales, nor have I ever heard of a
living one proclaiming his own demise."

Trix laughed involuntarily.

"Anyhow you've let other people say you are," she retorted.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Why did you let them?" asked Trix.

Again the man shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no responsibility in the matter."

"Doctor Hilary has, then," she flashed out.

"Has he?" was the quiet response.

"He has told people you were dead."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Well, he's let them think so anyway. Why has he?" demanded Trix.

"You ask a good many questions for an--er--an intruder," remarked t