Was she speaking the truth? The bishop decided that she had an headache and that this south wind was certainly unendurable. None the less, he suspected that she was employing the common subterfuge--telling the truth, but not the whole truth; perhaps not even the main part of it. She was holding back something. "You haven't attended to these roses lately," he said, observing that the flowers had not been changed and that their fallen petals strewed the tables. "They looked so fresh when I was here alone the other day." "What a dreadful person you are, Tommy, for noticing things. First you discover my headache, and now those flowers! I see I shall have to be careful with you. Perhaps you would like to look at my precipice and tell me if there is anything wrong with that too? You have heard of the old French lady, I daresay. She ended, you know, in not approving of it at all. We can have tea when we come back. And after that perhaps you will let me know what is wrong with baby?" "I can tell you that without looking at him. He is teething." "Clever boy! As a matter of fact, he isn't. But I had to make some excuse to the dear Duchess." They climbed up the short slope and found themselves looking towards the sea over the face of a dizzy cliff. A falcon, on their approach, started with rustle of wings from its ledge and then swayed crazily over the abyss. Watching this bird, the bishop felt a sudden voice in his stomach. A sensation of blackness came before his eyes--sky and sea were merged together--his feet were treading on air. He promptly sat down. "Not an inch nearer!" he declared. "Not for a thousand pounds. If you go along that edge again, I shall have to look the other way. It makes me feel empty inside." "I'm not in the least giddy," she laughed. "There was an English boy who threw himself over this cliff for a bet--you have heard the story? They never found his body. It's a good place for throwing oneself down, isn't it?" She seemed to consider the idea quite seriously. "Well?" she pursued. "Have you any fault to find with my precipice?" "I have. It ought to be railed in. It is dangerous. What a temptation this cliff must be to anyone who has an enemy to dispose of! It would be so simple," he added, laughing. "That advantage has never struck me before...." These and other things passed through Mr. Heard's mind as he lay in bed that evening. He came to the conclusion that he could not quite make his cousin out. Had something upset her? And what did she mean by that sudden conundrum: "Do you know anything, Tommy, about our laws of illegitimacy?" "Nothing," he had replied, "except that they are a disgrace to a civilized country. Everybody knows that." She seemed to be disappointed. Perhaps she mistrusted him. The thought gave him a little pain. He had done nothing to merit mistrust. He was frank and open himself; he liked others to be the same.