Meanwhile, the dear young man was evidently trying to talk to her, without too much reference to the gilt gingerbread of this world. He did not wish that she should feel herself carried into regions where she was not at home, so that his conversation ran amicably on music. Had she learned it abroad? He had a cousin who had been trained at Leipsic; wasn't teaching it trying sometimes--when people had no ear? Delicious! She kept it up, talking with smiles of "my pupils" and "my class," while they wandered after the others upstairs to the dark low-roofed room above the death-chamber, where Martha Washington spent the last years of her life, in order that from the high dormer window she might command the tomb on the slope below, where her dead husband lay. The curator told the well-known story. Mrs. Verrier, standing beside him, asked some questions, showed indeed some animation. "She shut herself up here? She lived in this garret? That she might always see the tomb? That is really true?" Barnes, who did not remember to have heard her speak before, turned at the sound of her voice, and looked at her curiously. She wore an expression--bitter or incredulous--which, somehow, amused him. As they descended again to the garden he communicated his amusement--discreetly--to Miss Floyd. Did Mrs. Verrier imply that no one who was not a fool could show her grief as Mrs. Washington did? That it was, in fact, a sign of being a fool to regret your husband? "Did she say that?" asked Miss Floyd quickly. "Not like that, of course, but----" They had now reached the open air again, and found themselves crossing the front court to the kitchen-garden. Daphne Floyd did not wait till Roger should finish his sentence. She turned on him a face which was grave if not reproachful. "I suppose you know Mrs. Verrier's story?" "Why, I never saw her before! I hope I haven't said anything I oughtn't to have said?" "Everybody knows it here," said Daphne slowly. "Mrs. Verrier married three years ago. She married a Jew--a New Yorker--who had changed his name. You know Jews are not in what we call 'society' over here? But Madeleine thought she could do it; she was in love with him, and she meant to be able to do without society. But she couldn't do without society; and presently she began to dine out, and go to parties by herself--he urged her to. Then, after a bit, people didn't ask her as much as before; she wasn't happy; and her people began to talk to him about a divorce--naturally they had been against her marrying him all along. He said--as they and she pleased. Then, one night about a year ago, he took the train to Niagara--of course it was a very commonplace thing to do--and two days afterwards he was found, thrown up by the whirlpool; you know, where all the suicides are found!" Barnes stopped short in front of his companion, his face flushing. "What a horrible story!" he said, with emphasis. Miss Floyd nodded. "Yes, poor Madeleine has never got over it."