she really was a
baronet's lady! After we were married she should keep her title. Many
people do. How well it would sound when we entered a room together--'
Dr. South and Lady Errand!' Yet, on second thoughts, would not this
conjunction of names rather set people asking questions?

Yes, disagreeable associations might be revived.

My second thought was that, if Mrs. Thompson kept her word, we might
as well go home at once, without bothering about the Soudan. The White
Groom, I felt certain, had long been speechless. There was thus no one
to connect Lady Errand with the decease of Sir Runan.

Moreover, Philippa's self-respect was now assured. She had lost it when
she learned that she was not Sir Runan's wife; she would regain it when
she became aware that she had made herself Sir Runan's widow. Such is
the character of feminine morality, as I understand the workings of
woman's heart.

I had reached this point in my soliloquy, when I reflected that perhaps
I had better _not_ tell Philippa anything about it.

You see, things were so very mixed, because Philippa's memory was so
curiously constructed that she had entirely forgotten the murder which
she had committed; and even if I proved to her by documentary evidence
that she had only murdered her own husband, it might not help to relieve
her burdened conscience as much as I had hoped. There are times when I
almost give up this story in despair. To introduce a heroine who is mad
in and out, so to speak, and forgets and remembers things exactly at the
right moment, seems a delightfully simple artifice.

But, upon my word, I am constantly forgetting what it is that Philippa
should remember, and on the point of making her remember the very things
she forgets!

So puzzled had I become that I consoled myself by cursing Sir Runan's
memory. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum!_

What a lot of trouble a single little murder, of which one thinks little
enough at the time, often gives a fellow.

All this while we were approaching Paris.

The stains of travel washed away, my mother gave a sigh of satisfaction
as she seated herself at the dinner table. As any one might guess who
looked at her, she was no despiser of the good things of this life!
That very night we went to the Hippodrome, where we met many old
acquaintances. My own Artillery Twins were there, and kissed their
hands to me as they flew gracefully over our heads towards the desired
trapeze. Here, also, was the Tattooed