"Joyce? Oh, yes, of course, I thought I knew the name; I remember." Perhaps unconsciously to herself, Gladys's tone hardened; she drew herself a little straighter, she even moved a little away. In spite of her obvious trouble, Mabel noticed. "You needn't be afraid of me--I shan't bite." "I was not afraid that you would bite. What is it you wish with me, Miss Joyce?" "That." She stretched out towards the other a letter. Gladys eyed it askance, almost, one might have thought from her demeanour, that she feared that it might bite. "What's that?" "If you take it--you'll see. You're right this time in being afraid; you've cause to be more afraid of that than of me. But it's written by somebody you know well, and--you'd better read it." Still doubtfully, as if she really were in awe of what the sheet of paper might portend, she took it gingerly from the other's fingers. Then she read it. And as she read, a curious change came over, not only her countenance, but her whole bearing. When she had reached the end her hands dropped to her side, she stared at the girl in front of her as she might have done at a visitant from another sphere. "What--does this letter mean?" For answer, Mabel took another piece of paper from that woman's universal pocket--her blouse. She held it out to Gladys, and, even more cautiously than before, Gladys took it with unwilling fingers. This time, as she read it, it was with an obvious lack of comprehension. "What on earth is this?" "Can't you see? Isn't it plain enough? It's a marriage licence--now can you see?" Gladys seemed to make an effort to achieve steadiness, not with entire success. As if to hide her partial failure, she went down the room to the seat which she had been occupying at the other end of the table. Resting her hand on the top of the chair, raising the paper again, she re-read it. Her back was towards Mabel, her face could not have been more eloquent, one saw a spasm pass right across it. She was still; there was a perceptible interval; she turned towards her visitor. Her face seemed to have aged; one saw that as she grew older she would not grow better-looking. "I see that this purports to be a licence of marriage--I don't know much about these things, but I take it that the marriage was to be before a registrar--between Rodney Elmore, who, I presume, is my cousin----" "He's your cousin right enough." "And--Mabel Joyce. Are you the Mabel Joyce referred to?" "I am; we were to have been married to-day--at noon sharp; the registrar--he'll be waiting for us, but he'll have to wait. Mr. Rodney Elmore, that's your cousin and my husband that was to be, he's bolted." "Bolted? I see. Is that what this letter means?" "That's just exactly what it means." "It doesn't mean that--he's--he's killed himself?" "Not much it doesn't; I know the gentleman. It simply means that, for reasons of his own--I'm one of them and I daresay you're another--he's cut and run."