xplained, "that Wenham has a
brother--Jerry--who is exactly like him. These two had rooms in Dover
Street always, where they kept some English clothes and a servant. Jerry
Gardner was over in London. I knew that, and was expecting to see him
every day. Wenham found his way to the rooms, dressed himself in his
brother's clothes, even wore his ring and some of his jewelry, which he
knew I should recognize, and came here. I believed--yes, I believed all
the time," she went on, her voice trembling, "that it was Jerry who was
sitting with me. Once or twice I had a sort of terrible shiver. Then I
remembered how much they were alike and it seemed to me ridiculous to be
afraid. It was not till we got upstairs, till the door was closed behind
me, that he turned round and I knew!"

Her head fell suddenly into her hands. It was almost the first sign of
emotion. Tavernake analyzed it mercilessly. He knew very well that it
was fear, the coward's fear of that terrible moment.

"And now?"

"Now," she went on, more cheerfully, "no one will venture to deny that
Wenham is mad. He will be placed under restraint, of course, and the
courts will make me an allowance. One thing is absolutely certain, and
that is that he will not live a year."

Tavernake half closed his eyes. Was there no sign of his suffering, no
warning note of the things which were passing out of his life! The woman
who smiled upon him seemed to see nothing. The twitching of his fingers,
the slight quivering of his face, she thought was because of his fear
for her.

"And now," she declared, in a suddenly altered tone, "this is all over
and done with. Now you know everything. There are no more mysteries,"
she added, smiling at him delightfully. "It is all very terrible, of
course, but I feel as though a great weight had passed away. You and I
are going to be friends, are we not?"

She rose slowly to her feet and came towards him. His eyes watched her
slow, graceful movements as though fascinated. He remembered on that
first visit of his how wonderful he had thought her walk. She was still
smiling up at him; her fingers fell upon his shoulders.

"You are such a strange person," she murmured. "You aren't a little bit
like any of the men I've ever known, any of the men I have ever cared
to have as friends. There is something about you altogether different. I
suppose that is why I rather like you. Are you glad?"

For a single wild moment Tavernake hesitated. She was so