I suppose Lionel thought that an old lover like myself, who had been discarded for years, was no possible danger. Possibly—for the minx was clever—he had absolute confidence in Sibella. At any rate, after lunch he left us together. It was the first time we had been alone since her marriage. It was a little awkward, but I exerted myself to free the situation from constraint. “Things have changed,” I said, lighting another cigarette with a languid feeling of enjoyment at being alone with her, and conscious that the ménage I had contemplated had begun. “You are wonderful, Israel. It is quite extraordinary how people talk about you, and quote what you say, and yet——” She paused, and I laughed. “And yet I began life in a third-rate Clapham lodging-house, and am still only a clerk in a stockbroker’s office.” “As far as that goes, I can’t quite see why people make such a fuss of us.” “Can’t you? Then look in the glass.” Sibella rippled with laughter. She loved flattery, and expected it. “My dear child,” I said lazily, “everything finds its level. We were bound to rise. You and I, Sibella, are very wonderful people.” “And Lionel?” “Lionel is not in the least wonderful. He is good-looking, but by himself he would never have wheeled the shortest flight above the ordinary.” “I won’t have you talking against my husband.” “I am not talking against him. I have rather an affection for Lionel. He is your husband.” “It is sometimes borne in upon me, Israel, and I cannot say why, that you are extraordinarily wicked.” “What makes you think that?” “There is something mysterious about you. There always was even as a boy, and it has grown with you.” I did not like to hear this. Above all people, a secret murderer cannot afford to suggest the mysterious. “Do you remember what a pretty little boy you were?” she asked. “Perfectly.” “Do you know, I’ve got a lock of your hair that I cut off at a children’s party. It’s such a dear, silky little curl. Quite black.” “Let me see it.” She rose and left the room. Returning, she unwrapped the covering of tissue paper and showed me the curl, as soft and sweet as the day it was cut. “My hair is coarser than that now,” I laughed. “It’s very nice hair, Israel.”