adful man Cassavetti.
Perhaps I oughtn't to call him that, as he's dead; I only heard about
the murder a little while ago, and then almost by accident. Maud Vereker
told me; do you know her?"

"That frivolous little chatterbox; yes, I've met her, though I'd
forgotten her name."

"She told me all about it one day. Mary and Jim had never said a word;
they seemed to be in a conspiracy of silence! But when I heard it I was
terribly upset. Think of any one suspecting you of murdering him,
Maurice,--just because he lived on the floor above you, and you happened
to find him. You poor boy, what dreadful troubles you have been
through!"

There was an interlude here; we had a good many such interludes, but
even when my arm was round her, when my lips pressed hers, I could
scarcely realize that I was awake and sane.

"It was just as well they did suspect me, darling," I said after a
while, "or I most certainly shouldn't have been here now."

She nestled closer to me, with a little sob.

"Oh, Maurice, Maurice! I can't believe that you're safe here again,
after all! And I feel that I was to blame for it all--"

"You? Why, how's that, sweetheart?"

"Because I flirted with that Cassavetti--at the dinner, don't you
remember? That seemed to be the beginning of everything! I was so cross
with you, and he--he puzzled and interested me, though I felt frightened
just at the last when I gave him that flower. Maurice, did he take me
for the other girl? And was there any meaning attached to the flower?"

"Yes, the flower was a symbol; it meant a great deal,--among other
things the fact that you gave it to him made him quite sure you
were--the person he mistook you for. You are marvellously like her--"

"Then you--you have met her also? Who is she? Where is she?"

"She is dead; and I don't know for certain who she was; until Jim met me
to-night I believed that she was--you!"

"Were we so like as that?" she breathed. "Why, she might have been my
sister, but I never had one; my mother died when I was born, you know!
Tell me about her, Maurice."

"I can't, dear; except that she was as brave as she was beautiful; and
her life was one long tragedy. But I'll show you her portrait."

She gave a little cry of astonishment as I handed her the miniature; the
diamond setting flashed under the softly shaded electric light.

"Oh, how lovely! But--why, she's far more beautiful than I am, or ever
shall be! Did she give you this, Maurice?"