"Oh yes!" she purred lightly. "Old woman as I am, I _quite_ understand! As you say ... 'the children.' ..." Then, forgetting her attitude for a moment, she became playfully roguish. "Of course, it isn't as if you weren't in love with Miss Windus, and so in a sense feel it more nearly. You know how _you_ would feel about it. I only say this that you may see that I _quite_ understand these things do make a difference--eh?" "But when I solemnly assure you that that has nothing whatever to do with it." She adjusted the Indian shawl coquettishly about her shoulders. "Ah, that's what you think! Come, Mr Jeffries you're positively ungallant! As if I was so old that I'd forgotten! And not only George either! I hope you won't be offended, Mr Jeffries, if I tell you that I suspect--I suspect--that in this I know you better than you know yourself!" Against that phrase there is no argument. Some people do not and cannot see. And again I did not think Miss Angela had the right to extract from me the uttermost word. I was aware that the very possession of that awful weapon of mine was dangerous; merely to have it might be to use it; but the question is one of your resolve, and I was fully resolved. My job had to be done, or (as I still dared in certain moments to hope) not to be done; but if it was to be done, it was going to be done thoroughly. My neck was not going into a noose because of other people's blindness. It was of no use talking to Miss Angela. And that being so, I abandoned my attempt with her. I smiled. "Well, perhaps you're right," I said. "When one is in love oneself, and looking forward--well, perhaps it does bring it home to one. Perhaps it makes one a little of a busybody. So," I concluded, "I hope you won't exaggerate what I've been saying." And a few minutes' further talk of things she had actually seen for herself in Archie--such things as his slight intemperance on the night of the birthday-party--made me quite safe with Miss Angela also. To Kitty I was able to say even less than this. Indeed, she now detested Archie so thoroughly that I was scarcely able to say anything at all. And, looking back with all the care I am master of, I cannot see that anything I did say could have been the cause of that extraordinary breaking off with me without a word. To Evie I said nothing at all. There remained one more attempt with himself. The time I chose for this was fixed by the exigencies of all the circumstances. I would have wrestled with him for the whole of the two days that remained before his wedding, but his own absence for a day precluded this. And as during that day I sought him in vain, I thought, very wearily, that he must now take his chance. Therefore, when it came to the very last day, the day before his wedding, I recognised that that also gave a perfect touch to the Evidence. The _very_ eve of his wedding. _Several_ evenings before would somehow have been less plausible.