"That's just it, Beatrice. He restrained his feelings as long as he could, and that night--in the Billiard Room, he--he lost control--and he said he--he c-couldn't stand it. You know he thought Eric didn't treat me right----" "And Eric didn't. But even if Mr. Courtenay did lose his head for a moment, that doesn't mean he was the murderer, and you mustn't suspect him, Joyce." "But you know what Orienta said--about a dark man with a pointed beard. Who else could it have been?" "Other men have dark hair and beards. And Orienta couldn't see him clearly, you know." "I know. And you are a comfort, Beatrice. But I never can marry Eugene if he has even a shadow of doubt hanging over him. I want him cleared." "Of course you do. And as he is innocent, he will clear himself." "Maybe not. If he can't find anybody who saw him out there on the bench, he will be arrested, and----" "Oh, no, he won't. Why, somebody must have seen him!" "If any of the servants had, they would have said so." "They weren't asked. What about Barry?" "Oh, I think Barry was off in the other direction, down by the orchards. But, Beatrice, maybe Mr. Wadsworth saw him. Didn't he leave you just about that time?" "Yes, or a few moments sooner. Shall I ask him?" "Oh, no. He's a fine man, and if he did see Eugene, his word will stand. Are you going to--do you care for him, Beatrice?" "No, Joyce. He is, as you say, a fine man, and he has asked me many times to marry him, but I do not love him in that way. I admire and respect him, that is all." "Poor Mr. Wadsworth. He worships the ground you walk on. Perhaps later, when all this horror is a thing of the past, you may change your mind." "Never, Joyce. But I'll ask Mr. Wadsworth about Eugene. You telephone him to come over here. If I do----" "He'll take it as encouragement. Yes, I know. I'll do it." Joyce called him up on the telephone, and Wadsworth came over to the Folly that evening. "Why, yes, I think so," he said, when questioned by Beatrice. "Let me see; when I left here, I walked a couple of times round the Italian garden paths, hesitating as to whether I should come back for one last appeal, or accept your refusal as final. I decided on the latter course, and was planning to go away on a long trip, to--to make myself keep away from you." He looked tenderly into the troubled face gazing into his own. "I don't want to persist too hard, dear, but I am of a determined nature, and I can't give you up. So, I'm going away, but I warn you I shall yet return and ask you once more--yes, once more, Beatrice." "That is in the future," she returned, gravely, "but now, let us see if we can help poor Joyce."