“I don’t like to tell you, Reggie. You know how I hate to give anybody pain.” “Pshaw!” he said, coloring a little. “Make a clean breast of it while you are about it. Have you and Lady Lenox quarreled?” “Certainly not.” “Then you have had disagreeables with one of the visitors.” “No; everybody had been charming, and shown me so much kindness and sympathy in my trouble.” “What trouble? I do wish you would not try to mystify me, Pauline. You know I was never good at riddles. I suppose your pug is dead, or you have found your first gray hair----” “Oh, Reggie! don’t talk like that; you make me feel dreadfully,” she interrupted. “I may have seemed frivolous when all things went well; but I assure you I can suffer with you, and for you now.” He dropped her arm, and turned, and stared at her. “What do you mean?” “Would you rather I told you the truth, Reggie?” “That is what I have been begging you to do for the last half-hour,” he answered impatiently. “But you seem to enjoy piling up the agony. I suppose the long and short of it is that Gwen is dangerously ill.” “She was perfectly well three or four hours ago. No; it is not that sort of trouble. Reggie. Gwen has disgraced us cruelly.” Lord Teignmouth started violently, and his face grew white to the lips. “I will not believe it,” he said. “You never liked her, Pauline, and are exaggerating a small imprudence into a crime. I am sure she would be able to clear herself at once, if she knew of what she was accused.” “Then give her the chance,” answered his wife coldly. And she told him the miserable story of Mr. Belmont’s death, unfalteringly asseverating that the unfortunate man had come to Turoy on Lady Gwendolyn’s account. “They had a meeting in the wood the very night of his death, as some of the people hereabout can testify; and, of course, his sudden and mysterious fate has caused a great sensation. No one could suspect Gwendolyn of anything but an imprudence, as you say; but it’s the sort of imprudence that ruins a woman’s reputation, I am afraid. My own opinion is that Colonel Dacre followed Mr. Belmont to Turoy, and, finding him to be a successful rival, determined to get him out of the way. But this is pure conjecture, and nothing of the sort came out at the inquest.” “Then there has been an inquest?” inquired Lord Teignmouth, who felt as if the ground were giving way beneath his feet. “Oh, yes! and Gwendolyn gave her evidence with great dignity and propriety--she was sure to do that, you know. The inquest took place at four o’clock, having been delayed by the post-mortem examination, and it was proved that the unfortunate man died of poison, but by whom administered there was no evidence to show, and they gave an open verdict.”