"Then I wish you had left him in London!" retorted Mrs. Glenarm,
shifting suddenly from tears to temper. "I was a happy woman before I
met your brother. I can't give him up!" she burst out, shifting back
again from temper to tears. "I don't care if he _has_ deceived me.
I won't let another woman have him! I _will_ be his wife!" She threw
herself theatrically on her knees before Julius. "Oh, _do_ help me to
find out the truth!" she said. "Oh, Julius, pity me! I am so fond of
him!"

There was genuine distress in her face, there was true feeling in her
voice. Who would have believed that there were reserves of merciless
insolence and heartless cruelty in this woman--and that they had been
lavishly poured out on a fallen sister not five minutes since?

"I will do all I can," said Julius, raising her. "Let us talk of it when
you are more composed. Try a little music," he repeated, "just to quiet
your nerves."

"Would _you_ like me to play?" asked Mrs. Glenarm, becoming a model of
feminine docility at a moment's notice.

Julius opened the Sonatas of Mozart, and shouldered his violin.

"Let's try the Fifteenth," he said, placing Mrs. Glenarm at the piano.
"We will begin with the Adagio. If ever there was divine music written
by mortal man, there it is!"

They began. At the third bar Mrs. Glenarm dropped a note--and the bow of
Julius paused shuddering on the strings.

"I can't play!" she said. "I am so agitated; I am so anxious. How _am_ I
to find out whether that wretch is really married or not? Who can I ask?
I can't go to Geoffrey in London--the trainers won't let me see him. I
can't appeal to Mr. Brinkworth himself--I am not even acquainted with
him. Who else is there? Do think, and tell me!"

There was but one chance of making her return to the Adagio--the chance
of hitting on a suggestion which would satisfy and quiet her. Julius
laid his violin on the piano, and considered the question before him
carefully.

"There are the witnesses," he said. "If Geoffrey's story is to be
depended on, the landlady and the waiter at the inn can speak to the
facts."

"Low people!" objected Mrs. Glenarm. "People I don't know. People who
might take advantage of my situation, and be insolent to me."

Julius considered once more; and made another suggestion. With the fatal
ingenuity of innocence, he hit on the idea of referring Mrs. Glenarm to
no less a person than Lady Lundie herself!

"There is our good friend at Windygates,