ondering how we were to
tell you, because you and Captain Hannaford were such good friends."

"Were? Oh, Mrs. Winter, he is not--dead? But no, we met him walking day
before yesterday. He looked--much as usual. Only perhaps a little pale."

"His heart must have been weak," Rose said. "You know, he didn't sleep
well. And a little while ago they found that he'd passed away in the
night quite peacefully. They believe it must have been an overdose of
veronal. He was in the habit of taking it."

Mary sprang up, her hands clasped and pressed against her breast. All
colour was drained from her face. There was a look of horror in her
eyes, as if she saw some dreadful thing which others could not see. But
Rose thought that she knew what brought the look, and hurried on before
Mary could speak. "Such accidents have been happening often lately.
People oughtn't to be allowed to buy drugs and take any dose they
choose."

"It--they do say that--that it was an accident?" Mary stammered, the
blood flowing slowly back to cheeks and lips.

"Oh, yes. Dick, who told us, said so at once. And everybody else here
will say it, you may be sure."

Vanno went to Mary, and taking her clasped hands, with gentle force drew
her against his shoulder, in true Latin indifference to the presence of
others. "Darling, don't look so desperate," he said. "Poor Hannaford
wasn't a happy man in his life. I think he must be glad to die."

"Ah, that is the reason I----" Mary stopped. She had not told him or any
one that Hannaford had wished to be more than a friend to her. It had
not seemed right to tell even Vanno about another's love and
disappointment. Almost it would have been, she felt, like boasting.

"Perhaps George and I might have let you go on being happy while you
were with us," Rose said, "if a letter hadn't come addressed to you in
Captain Hannaford's handwriting. It was better for you to know
everything before opening it, just in case----" Rose did not finish her
sentence, but, getting up, went to the mantelpiece, where she had placed
the envelope in front of a gilded French clock that looked pitifully
frivolous as a background.

"Would you like us to go out, and let you read your letter alone with
the Prince?" she asked, as she gave the envelope to Mary.

The girl shook her head. "No, I'd rather have you all with me."

For a minute she stood with the sealed envelope in her hand, looking
down at her name in Hannaford's clearly formed, thi