nd Langholm did not credit the other five
with his own trained insight and powers of observation; he furthermore
reflected that those others, even if as close observers as himself,
could not possibly have put two and two together as he had done. And
this was sound; but Langholm had a fatal knack of overlooking the lady
whom he had taken in to dinner at Upthorpe Hall, and scarcely noticed at
Hornby Manor. Cocksure as he himself was of the significance of that
which he had seen with his own eyes, the observer flattered himself that
he was the only real one present; remembered the special knowledge which
he had to assist his vision; and relied properly enough upon the silence
of Sir Baldwin Gibson.

The greater the secret, however, the more piquant the situation for one
who was in it; and there were moments of a sleepless night in which
Langholm found nothing new to regret. But he was in a quandary none the
less. He could scarcely meet Mrs. Steel again without a word about the
prospective story, which they had so often discussed together, and upon
which he was at last free to embark; nor could he touch upon that theme
without disclosing the new knowledge which would burn him until he did.
Charles Langholm and Rachel Steel had two or three qualities in common:
an utter inability to pretend was one, if you do not happen to think it
a defect.

As a rule when he had finished a rapid bit of writing, Langholm sat down
to correct, and a depressing task his spent brain always found it; but
for once he let it beat him altogether. After a morning's tussle with
one unfortunate chapter, the desperate author sent off the rest in their
sins, and rode his bicycle to abolish thought. But that mild pastime
fell lamentably short of its usual efficacy. It was not one of his
heroines who was worrying the novelist, but a real woman whom he liked
and her husband whom he did not. The husband it was who had finished
matters by entering the field of speculation during the morning's work.
It may he confessed that Langholm had not by any means disliked him the
year before.

What was the secret of this second marriage on the part of one who had
been so recently and so miserably married? Was it love? Langholm would
not admit it for a moment. Steel did not love his wife, and there was
certainly nothing to love in Steel. Langholm had begun almost to hate
him; he told himself it was because Steel did not even pretend to love
his wife, but let stranger