command, her voice as rich as an English horn, and her manner
forthright.

"Never mind the Brazier part of it, Val," she replied, in an off-hand,
unembarrassed tone. "I want to see Selene and have this dreadful
business over before the funeral. Where is she?"

Val motioned upstairs and the clear voice of his sister was heard:

"Is that you, Belle? Come up right away...."

II

Both women were dry-eyed as they embraced. Belle showed signs of
fatigue, so Selene made her comfortable on the divan.

"Shall I ring for tea, Belle?" The other nodded. Then she burst forth:
"And to think, Selene, to think that we should be the unlucky victims.
To think that my dearest friend should be the wife of my husband." She
began to laugh. Selene would not smile. The tea was brought by a
man-servant, who did not lift his eyes, but the corners of his mouth
twitched when he turned his back. Belle sipping the hot, comforting
drink looked about her curiously. The apartment reflected unity of
taste. It was rather low, and long, the ceiling panelled and covered
with dull gilt arabesques. The walls were hung with soft material upon
which were embroidered fugitive figures heavily powdered with gold dust.
One wide window with a low sill covered the end of this room, and over
the fireplace was swung a single painting, "The Rape of the Rhinegold,"
by a German master. The grand piano loaded with music occupied the lower
part of the room and there were plenty of books in the cases. Belle
reflected that Sig's taste was artistic and sighed at the recollection
of her--of their--big, bare, uncanny house on the hill. Selene began:

"Belle, dear, I'm glad to see you, sorry to see you. The odious
newspapers were the cause of your discovering the crime--don't stop
me--the crime of that wretch downstairs--" Belle started. "I sha'n't
mince words with you. Sig was a scamp, a gifted rascal; his singing and
artistic love-making the cause of many a woman's downfall."

"Oh, then there are some more?" asked Belle, in a most interested voice.

"Yes, there are many more; but my dear girl, we mustn't become morbid
and discuss the matter. I'm afraid what we are doing now is in rather
bad taste, but I'm too fond of you, too fond of the girl I went to
school with to quarrel because a bad man deceived us. I've been laying
down the law to Val, Belle; we must _not_ be present at the funeral.
We've got to bury our headstrong husband and we both can see the last of
hi