"As to that I can't judge. I don't wish to judge," said Gerald, quickly. "Of course, I should suppose you have reason to trust implicitly the sources of the information on which you acted?" he looked at her keenly as he spoke. Eugenia slightly changed colour. "My own instincts are not likely to deceive me," she said, hotly. But her honesty pushed itself in, with some misgiving. "There is one person I should like to see--a person I trust thoroughly. Of course she can only confirm what I discovered, but still, strictly speaking, I suppose I should have her confirmation before I can say I am _quite_ sure of what I acted upon." "Do you mean Miss Eyrecourt?" said Gerald. "Yes," answered Eugenia, looking up with some surprise at his correct guess. "I am glad you trust her," he said, briefly. They had turned again by now, and from time to time other strollers passed them, glancing at them in one or two cases, with the slight, indolent curiosity with which watering-place loungers inspect each other. Eugenia's veil was drawn down, but her tall figure in its deep mourning garments could not but be somewhat conspicuous. Gerald chose the quietest paths, but still he grew uneasy. He did not like to leave his companion till he had seen her safely to her own door; his terror lest she should suspect him of suggesting the expediency of their separating, made it impossible for him to find any plausible excuse for saying good-bye: yet at every step he realised more painfully the awkwardness that might attend their recognition. "Ever so many Wareborough people come here," he reflected, "and who knows but what by this time there is full hue and cry after the missing Mrs Chancellor. It is frightful to think what she is exposing herself to," and, glancing at her as the thought crossed his mind, some irritation mingled with his pity. "She is too absorbed to understand it, but something _must_ be done at once." "Does Sydney know where you are now?" he asked. "No," she replied, "not yet. But I am going to write to her to-night." When they had reached the house where she had taken rooms, Mr Thurston held out his hand in farewell. "Won't you come in, Gerald?" Eugenia asked. "No, thank you. I have letters to write, and the post leaves early. You must take care your letter is in time." "Yes," she answered, absently, adding, "If you won't come in to-night, will you come and see me to-morrow? I--I will try to think of what you have said, if it is not too late." "Then you don't think me hard and cruel?" he said, gently. "No, oh no. I only thought you _could_ not understand."