lushed a little with annoyance that she should have
betrayed her feelings so openly. With a vexed laugh, she recovered her
temper and composed demeanour.

"You see I am no saint, Mr. Denzil," she said, resuming her seat, for
in her anger she had risen to her feet. "But even if I were one, I could
not have restrained myself from speaking as I did. When you know my
stepmother as well as I do--but I must talk calmly about her, or you
will not understand my reasons for thinking her concerned in the
terrible fate of my poor father."

"I am all attention, Miss Vrain."

"I'll tell you all I know, as concisely as possible," she replied, "and
you can judge for yourself if I am right or wrong. Three years ago my
father's health was very bad. Since the death of my mother--now some ten
years--he had devoted himself to hard study, and had lived more or less
the life of a recluse in Berwin Manor. He was writing a history of the
Elizabethan dramatists, and became so engrossed with the work that he
neglected his health, and consequently there was danger that he might
suffer from brain fever. The doctors ordered him to leave his books and
to travel, in order that his attention might be distracted by new scenes
and new people. I was to go with him, to see that he did not resume his
studies, so, in an evil hour for us both, we went to Italy."

"Your father was not mad?" said Lucian, thinking of the extraordinary
behaviour of Vrain in the square.

"Oh, no!" cried Diana indignantly. "He was a trifle weak in the head
from overwork but quite capable of looking after himself."

"Did he indulge in strong drink?"

Miss Vrain looked scandalised. "My father was singularly abstemious in
eating and drinking," she said stiffly. "Why do you ask such a
question?"

"I beg your pardon," replied Lucian, with all humility, "but it was
reported in Geneva Square that Berwin--the name by which your father was
known--drank too much; and when I met him he was certainly not--not
quite himself," finished the barrister delicately.

"No doubt his troubles drove him to take more than was good for him,"
said Diana in a low voice. "Yet I wonder at it, for his health was none
of the best. Sometimes, I admit, he took sleeping draughts
and--and--drugs."

"He was consumptive," said Lucian, noticing Diana's hesitation to speak
plainly.

"His chest was weak, and consumption may have developed itself, but when
I left England, almost two years back, he was certa