“My book is on that table. Will you give it to me, please?” Her voice was quite steady, though thin. Almost mechanically Falconer handed her the book she asked for, and with another slight inclination of her head, before Dr. Aston had recovered his balance sufficiently to speak, she was gone. The door closed behind her, and a low ejaculation broke from the doctor. Then he drew a long breath, and said slowly: “That’s a remarkable woman.” Falconer drew his hand across his forehead as though he were a little dazed. “I think not!” he said stupidly. “Not when you know her!” “Ah!” returned the doctor, with a shrewd glance at him. “And you do know her?” If Falconer could have seen Mrs. Romayne an hour later, he would have been more than ever convinced of the correctness of his judgement. The preparations for departure were nearly concluded; she had dismissed her maid and was finishing them herself with her usual quiet deliberation, though her face was very pale and set. But it might have perplexed him somewhat if he had seen her, when everything was done, stop short in the middle of the room and lift her hands to her head as though something oppressed her almost more heavily than she could bear. “End as his father ended!” she said below her breath. “Ruin and disgrace!” She turned and crossed the room to where her travelling-bag stood, and drew from it a letter, thrust into a pocket with several others. It was the blotted little letter which began “My dear Mamma,” and when she returned it to the bag at last, her face was once again the face that Dennis Falconer did not know. CHAPTER VI