thought and literary composition. Only a week before the blow
fell, she, happening to raise her eyes from the paper, saw two figures
seated on the grass under the shade of the elms. She could make out the
white blouse. There could be no mistake.

"I suppose they imagined themselves concealed by the hedge. They forgot
no doubt I was working in the garret," she said bitterly. "Or perhaps
they didn't care. They were right. I am rather a simple person..."
She laughed again ... "I was incapable of suspecting such duplicity."

"Duplicity is a strong word, Mrs Fyne--isn't it?" I expostulated.
"And considering that Captain Anthony himself..."

"Oh well--perhaps," she interrupted me. Her eyes which never strayed
away from mine, her set features, her whole immovable figure, how well I
knew those appearances of a person who has "made up her mind." A very
hopeless condition that, specially in women. I mistrusted her
concession so easily, so stonily made. She reflected a moment. "Yes.
I ought to have said--ingratitude, perhaps."

After having thus disengaged her brother and pushed the poor girl a
little further off as it were--isn't women's cleverness perfectly
diabolic when they are really put on their mettle?--after having done
these things and also made me feel that I was no match for her, she went
on scrupulously: "One doesn't like to use that word either. The claim
is very small. It's so little one could do for her. Still..."

"I dare say," I exclaimed, throwing diplomacy to the winds. "But
really, Mrs Fyne, it's impossible to dismiss your brother like this out
of the business..."

"She threw herself at his head," Mrs Fyne uttered firmly.

"He had no business to put his head in the way, then," I retorted with
an angry laugh. I didn't restrain myself because her fixed stare seemed
to express the purpose to daunt me. I was not afraid of her, but it
occurred to me that I was within an ace of drifting into a downright
quarrel with a lady and, besides, my guest. There was the cold teapot,
the emptied cups, emblems of hospitality. It could not be. I cut short
my angry laugh while Mrs Fyne murmured with a slight movement of her
shoulders, "He! Poor man! Oh come..."

By a great effort of will I found myself able to smile amiably, to speak
with proper softness.

"My dear Mrs Fyne, you forget that I don't know him--not even by sight.
It's difficult to imagine a victim as passive as all that; but grantin