"Oh yes! Anything! If he came back to life, and yet was supposed to be dead, and was trying to begin all over again and to make a fresh start, and that kind of thing--under another name--" "In order to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his widow marry some one else?" asked Vanbrugh, with less discretion than usual. "I did not mean that," said Mrs. Willoughby quickly. "Poor Marion! Poor Marion! What time is it, Mr. Brown?" "Three." "Oh dear!" exclaimed cousin Annie. "Dear me!" echoed Vanbrugh. "Yes, it is later than I thought," said Mr. Brown. By a common impulse, all three rose at once and crossed the room to take leave of their hostess. "What, are you all going?" asked the latter. "Do you know what time it is, Marion?" And not waiting for an answer, Mrs. Willoughby held out her hand. "It is awfully late," observed Vanbrugh, by way of explanation. "Thank you so much," said Mr. Brown, shaking hands warmly. "Yes, it is later than I thought." Brett looked at his watch, though by this time he had made up his mind to outstay the others. "Well--if you must go--" Marion did not show any anxiety to detain her guests as they filed out of the room. "You did not mean me to go away with the crowd, did you?" asked Brett, as the door closed behind Mr. Brown. "Not if you wished to stay," answered Marion, taking her favourite chair near the fire. "Take another cigarette. Sit down." "And make myself at home? Thanks." "If you can," said Mrs. Darche with a pleasant laugh. "Did you hear what they were saying to each other over there while we were talking?" inquired Brett, who by this time seemed to have recovered from the unnatural embarrassment he had shown at first. He had rather suddenly made up his mind that Marion ought to know something about the story in the papers. "No. Did you?" she asked. "Yes." "I do not like that." Mrs. Darche did not seem pleased. "It was not nice of you--to be able to talk as you were talking, and to listen to the conversation of other people at the same time." "Do you know what they were saying?" asked Brett. "No, certainly not." "It is not a pleasant subject. They were talking about that paragraph in the papers again. Of course there is nothing in the story, and yet it is very strange. May I speak of it?" "Is it of any use?" asked Mrs. Darche, beginning to suspect what was coming. "I hardly know," Brett answered, "and yet if it should turn out there is even the smallest grain of truth--" "There cannot be. I know there cannot be," she repeated, after a moment's pause, as though she had gone over the whole question in the interval. "Oh, what is the use of suggesting such things?" "Yes," answered Brett. "You know there cannot be any truth in it--even if he were alive he would not come back. I know it, and yet if he should, it would be so horrible that I cannot help thinking of it. You know what it would mean if that man were to return." "I know what it would mean to me. Do not speak of it, please."