“I--I was wakened by some noise or other,” said Pauline painfully, and it appeared to her that Carpentaria was whispering in her ear the words that she must say. “And--and--I--I thought perhaps something had gone wrong here.” “No,” was Rosie’s reply. “But how queer you look, darling! You must have had a nightmare. You have quite startled me.” Pauline did not answer at once. “You aren’t undressed! You haven’t lain down,” she said at length. “I thought you could always sleep very well on that sofa.” “So I can,” said Rosie. “But I’ve been reading. And besides--it’s rather upsetting about Cousin Ilam. I wonder where he can be.” “Oh!” Pauline remarked summarily, “he’s pretty certain to turn up to-morrow. I expect he’s gone into town.” Rosie yawned. “Yes,” she agreed. “Well, good-night, darling,” said Pauline, and took Rosie’s hand. . “Good-night.” “How cold your hand is!” Pauline observed, with an inward tremor. “Have you been out?” “Been out? What do you mean?” “Outside on to the balcony?” “No. I haven’t stirred from my chair, darling. Bye-bye.” They stared at each other for an instant, each full of dissimulation, and yet also of love, and then they kissed one another passionately, and Pauline departed. They were women. CHAPTER XXV---A Wholesale Departure Having retired to her bedroom and divested herself of the deceitful _peignoir_, Pauline made her way, with all the precautions of secrecy, downstairs again, and so to the door which gave on the avenue. Carpentaria was not in view when she timorously put her head out of the door, and she was in a mind to rush back to her sister in order to confide in her absolutely, and to demand in return her entire confidence. She allowed herself to suspect for a brief instant that, after all, Carpentaria had not been behaving openly with her; but just then the musician arrived--he had evidently been watching the other side of the house. “You were right,” she whispered, before he had time to ask a question. “Your sister denies that she has been out?” Pauline nodded. “Does this help us?” she inquired, as it were, bitterly. “Are we any better off, now that I have lied to Rosie, and forced Rosie to lie to me?” “I think so,” he said. “I don’t,” Pauline retorted. “And I have passed the most dreadful five minutes of all my life.” She seemed to be desolated, to be filled with grief. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry,” he murmured. “No, no,” she said quickly. “You have been quite right. We find ourselves in the centre of a mystery, and I have no excuse for being sentimental. My trust in Rosie remains what it always was. Still, facts are facts, and I am ready to do whatever you instruct me to do.” “Well,” he said, “your sister must have had some reason for insisting on watching Mrs. Ilam out of her turn; and that reason is not connected with the little matter of the boat. If she had merely wished to go unobserved to the boat she would have gone to bed as usual and said nothing, wouldn’t she?”