“Oh,” she said with a sudden gibe, “I know what’s the matter with you; you’re feeling remorse. You’re upset because you suspected Dudley of being a mean hound. I know you, Robert Grimshaw. You were jealous of him; you were madly jealous of him. You married him to that little pink parroquet and then you got jealous of him. You _wanted_ to believe that he was mean and deceitful. You wanted to believe that he was going to turn out a bad hat. You wanted to believe it so that you could take your Pauline off his hands again, and now you’re feeling remorse because you suspected him. You knew in your heart that he was honest and simple and pure, but your jealousy turned you mad; I know you, Robert Grimshaw. Well, go on feeling remorse. Get all you can of it. I tell you this: I got Dudley Leicester into my hands and I did what I wanted with him, and nothing happened to shock him except when the telephone bell rang and someone recognized his voice. I guess that was shock enough for him. I thought he was in for something. I could tell it by the look of his eyes, but that only proves the thorough good sort he was. It wasn’t till then that he understood what he’d been up to. Then he was knocked flat.” “There wasn’t anything else at all?” Robert Grimshaw said. He had pulled himself together and stood with his stick behind his back, leaning upon it a little. “Yes I admit I misjudged Dudley; but it’s a queer sort of world. You’re quite sure there wasn’t anything else?” “What more do you want?” she asked. “Could a chap like that have had anything more beastly happen to him? Besides, it’s indicated in the form you say his madness takes. He’s always asking who it was who rung us up. Doesn’t it prove that that’s what hit his brain? No, he wasn’t thrown out of a cab. He didn’t stumble. My husband didn’t turn up, no. Nothing of the sort. He was just knocked plumb-centre by that chap saying: ‘Isn’t that Dudley Leicester speaking?’” Robert Grimshaw’s face was the hue of wood-ash. “My dear Etta,” he said with his gentle collectiveness. “It’s perfectly obvious that you aren’t responsible for Dudley’s collapse. It was the meddling fool at the other end of the telephone.” “It was rather meddlesome when you come to think of it, but then perhaps he didn’t know there was anything wrong in Dudley’s being where he was.” “Perhaps he didn’t,” Robert Grimshaw said. “Let’s go and have lunch.” “Oh, I don’t want any lunch,” she said. “Take me home.” She supported herself on his arm as they walked up the long avenue, for her footsteps were not very steady. PART IV I