in my life. Your rash visit to Dexter, and
your extraordinary imprudence in taking him into your confidence have
led to astonishing results. The light which the whole machinery of
the Law was unable to throw on the poisoning case at Gleninch has been
accidentally let in on it by a Lady who refuses to listen to reason and
who insists on having her own way. Quite incredible, and nevertheless
quite true."

"Impossible!" I exclaimed.

"What is impossible?" he asked, coolly

"That Dexter poisoned my husband's first wife."

"And why is that impossible, if you please?" I began to be almost
enraged with Mr. Playmore.

"Can you ask the question?" I replied, indignantly. "I have told you
that I heard him speak of her in terms of respect and affection of
which any woman might be proud. He lives in the memory of her. I owe his
friendly reception of me to some resemblance which he fancies he sees
between my figure and hers. I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heard
his voice falter and fail him, when he spoke of her. He may be the
falsest of men in all besides, but he is true to _her_--he has not
misled me in that one thing. There are signs that never deceive a woman
when a man is talking to her of what is really near his heart: I saw
those signs. It is as true that I poisoned her as that he did. I am
ashamed to set my opinion against yours, Mr. Playmore; but I really
cannot help it. I declare I am almost angry with you."

He seemed to be pleased, instead of offended by the bold manner in which
I expressed myself.

"My dear Mrs. Eustace, you have no reason to be angry with me. In one
respect, I entirely share your view--with this difference, that I go a
little further than you do."

"I don't understand you."

"You will understand me directly. You describe Dexter's feeling for the
late Mrs. Eustace as a happy mixture of respect and affection. I can
tell you it was a much warmer feeling toward her than that. I have
my information from the poor lady herself--who honored me with her
confidence and friendship for the best part of her life. Before she
married Mr. Macallan--she kept it a secret from him, and you had better
keep it a secret too--Miserrimus Dexter was in love with her. Miserrimus
Dexter asked her--deformed as he was, seriously asked her--to be his
wife."

"And in the face of that," I cried, "you say that he poisoned her!"

"I do. I see no other conclusion possible, after what happened during
your visit to hi