She rather affected to make light of it. “Of course, it would have been much better if it had never happened,” she said in her laudable desire to cheer up the drooping Alma. “But the name of Darcy will convey nothing to a man in Sir George’s position. It all happened so many years ago, and it was not a sensational trial, no paper had more than a few lines about it. At the same time, my dear old friend, you must forgive me for saying it is a lesson to you to keep a stricter watch over yourself in certain respects.” Alma, of course, promised that she would, as much for her own sake as for that of others, and the two women parted as good friends as ever. In a few days the incident almost faded from the minds of both. They did not meet again for a month, and when they did, Miss Buckley’s manner was very grave and constrained. Her friend, who knew her moods so well, surmised at once she had got something on her mind. “Why are you looking so woebegone, Alma?” she questioned at length when she noticed that her friend’s gloom seemed deepened rather than lightened in spite of the efforts of both to keep the ball of conversation rolling. It was some time before Alma spoke; when she did she rushed out her words with a sort of nervous impetuosity. “You’ll have to know it sooner or later, Lettice; I may as well tell you and get it over. It all arose from my making an idiot of myself on that fatal night, when I let out the name of Darcy and the truth about Jack’s father. I’ve told you that Sir George was always very curious about him.” It was now Mrs. Morrice’s turn to look grave. She felt instinctively that something portentous had happened. Alma went on in her quick, nervous way: “Sir George was round at my place a couple of days ago, and after we had talked a little on casual subjects, a queer sort of smile came over his face, and he came out with it all. I hate to tell you, Lettice, but you must know. He has found out all about you, how I cannot guess; I begin to think, much as I like him, he is a dangerous man, and that there is about him something—how shall I describe it—just a little bit sinister. He knows all about the trial and sentence; that you and Darcy were married in France; and that you are now the wife of Rupert Morrice. I cannot say how wretched and miserable I am about it. When he left, I felt as if I should like to go and drown myself, but that wouldn’t do any good.”