No one need know, and she said these words to herself, and found that they gave her comfort. How long she had sat thinking she did not know, but the twilight was coming on when the servant came to her and asked her if she would receive Mrs. Wymans. "I am not out, of course, if any one calls; you can show them in," she said, surprised by his tone. Mrs. Wymans came in with that prepared expression of sympathy that some people feel right to show on all occasions when sorrow may properly be supposed to be in question. "This is indeed kind," she said, nestling up to Mrs. Dorriman. "I call it real friendship to allow me to see you at such a moment." "My brother is so much better," said Mrs. Dorriman, with her little air of gentle dignity, "that there is no reason why I should deny myself to any one." "Ah, so good of you; but then, dear Mrs. Dorriman, I am so deeply interested in you ever since that day we met in the railway-carriage. I have felt so much sympathy and real interest." "You are very good." "Oh no! I am not good at all. But your brother, how does he bear it?" "He is better and in fair enough spirits, considering all things." "Ah!" and Mrs. Wymans heaved a sigh that might have almost sent a ship across the sea. The scene was curious--the one woman burning with curiosity and an intense anxiety to know what would put her in the position (in the society of Renton) of being really intimate with Mrs. Dorriman; and the other alarmed, anxious, yet standing bravely up and concealing by a wonderful exertion that she was at all nervous about anything. "Will he be tried? Of course he will," and Mrs. Wymans heaved another sigh, which was cut short in the middle by want of breath. Poor Mrs. Dorriman's heart seemed to stand still. Who was meant? Her brother? Still she showed a composed front to Mrs. Wymans, who was perplexed, annoyed, and began to be half afraid her information might not have been correct in every particular. "You are talking riddles, Mrs. Wymans," and Mrs. Dorriman was unmistakeably annoyed. "Such strange, such very strange stories spread, one never knows what to believe," Mrs. Wymans answered, "but I heard it on what seemed to be very good authority." "Would you be so kind as to tell me what you have heard, and in what way it refers to me?" and Mrs. Dorriman felt the suspense was very terrible to her. "Be prepared, for you evidently have heard nothing," and Mrs. Wymans felt to the full the importance of being the first to tell important news; "Mrs. Drayton's baby is dead, and, Mrs. Dorriman, _the child did not die a natural death_!" Mrs. Dorriman started--for a moment she lost her self-control. "Take care, Mrs. Wymans! Oh, do you know what you are saying!" "You know nothing?" "I know nothing about the child, and," taking sudden courage at the thought, "Jean, my old servant, wrote to me, and Grace--Miss Rivers--telegraphed, 'Mr. Drayton is ill,' that is all. There is nothing more."