the time it
seemed almost right."

"Almost!" said Lucas, faintly smiling.

She smiled also through her tears. "Why don't you call me a humbug? Well,
listen! It was like this. One night in the beginning of the winter Bertie
and I had a disagreement about Nap. It wasn't at all important. But I had
to stick up for him, because I had chanced to see him just before he
left in the summer--you remember--when he was very, very miserable?"

"I remember," said Lucas.

He spoke rather wearily, but his eyes never left her face. He was
listening intently.

"And I was frightfully sorry for him," proceeded Dot, "though at the
time I didn't know what was the matter. And I couldn't let Bertie say
horrid things about him. So I fired up. And then Bertie told me"--she
faltered a little--"about Nap caring for Lady Carfax. And that was where
the trouble began. He didn't give him credit for really loving her,
whereas I knew he did."

Strong conviction sounded in Dot's voice. The blue eyes that watched her
opened a little.

"That so?" said Lucas.

"Oh, I was sure," she said. "I was sure. There are some things a woman
can't help knowing. It was the key to what I knew before. I
understood--at once."

"And then?" said Lucas.

"Then, of course, I remembered that Lady Carfax was free. And I asked
Bertie if he knew. You see, I thought it possible that in her heart she
might be caring for him too. I knew they had always been friends. And Sir
Giles was such a brute to her. No woman could ever have loved him. I
think most people couldn't help knowing that. And it seemed only fair
that Nap should know that Sir Giles was dead. I told Bertie so. He didn't
agree with me." Dot paused and vigorously dried her eyes. "I still don't
think he was right," she said.

"P'r'aps not." Lucas spoke meditatively. "There's a good deal to be said
for woman's intuition," he said.

"It seemed to me a matter of fair play," maintained Dot. "He didn't know
where Nap was, only his club address. And he wouldn't write himself, so
I just wrote a single line telling Nap that Sir Giles was dead, and sent
it off that night. I didn't tell Bertie. It didn't seem to matter much
then, and I knew it might be ages before Nap got it. But now that that
line has brought him back, I feel as if he ought to know--particularly
as Bertie is so angry with him for returning. And Anne too--Anne nearly
fainted when she saw him. I felt as if I had landed everybody in a
hopeless muddle.