When he got back to the drawing-room he found the widow where he had left her. She was sitting in an easy-chair, her elbow resting on a table, her head on her hand. She raised her head as he entered. Otherwise she did not move. "My mother is delighted you have come," he said. "She will be here in a few minutes. I see the fire has gone out. I hope you do not feel the place very cold?" She looked at him with a stony stare. Her brows were slightly raised, but around her eyes the lids were strangely contracted. The expression of the whole face was that of one who suffered pain, but was not giving attention to the pain. When she spoke, her voice was dry and hard. "It is most kind of your mother to interest and trouble herself about a perfect stranger. I do not feel cold, thank you." The contraction round the eyes relaxed. A look of intelligence alarmed came into her eyes, and she asked, in a husky voice: "Do you know anything of cases such as this? I mean, do you know anything of the law in such cases?" "The law!" he said, "the law! In what way do you mean?" "Oh," she cried, covering her face with her hands, "it is dreadful to think of--horrible! Can you not tell me," she pleaded, "if--if it will be necessary to have an----" She paused and looked at him beseechingly. "An inquest?" "Yes." "Certainly not," he answered promptly. With this beautiful woman before him it was shocking to think of the ordeal and details of an inquest. "Mr. Davenport was suffering from a disease of long standing; it had been particularly bad to-night, and a violent paroxysm overcame him. My friend, Dr. Santley, will make it right, and you will be spared all pain that can possibly be diverted from you." "Thank you," she said, feebly; and she threw herself back in her chair. Nothing further was said until Mrs. Paulton entered the room. The young man introduced Mrs. Davenport to his mother; then he left to rouse the coachman for the purpose of sitting up at Crescent House. As soon as Paulton had arranged this, he hastened back to Dr. Santley. "I came as quickly as I could, doctor. That poor woman is in a dreadful state of mind; she looks to me as if she were losing her reason." "H'm," said the doctor, who was sitting on a chair by the lamp on the table, and had been reading a newspaper he had happened to have in his pocket. He seemed thoughtful or sleepy; Paulton was not a man of nice observation. "Poor thing!" said the latter, compassionately; "she is not only in great grief for the loss of her husband, but was very uneasy about the suddenness of his death." "No wonder," said the doctor drily. The younger man sat down on a chair and regarded his companion with surprise. He had known the other for years, and had always taken him for a simple, sympathetic man. His tone now was one of cynical distrust, although distrust of what Paulton could not even guess. He leant forward and peered into Santley's face.