Judy finally broke it. “After all,” she said, looking up at Bill, “I don’t know why not. Since he’s here, maybe it’s providential.” She turned to me. “You like to hear long stories, don’t you? Stories of people’s lives, their terrible pasts and all that? Do you want me to tell you one?” She had startled her companion, I could see, but it wasn’t, I thought, as if he meant to try to dissuade her. “Go ahead and tell it,” I said. But before she had time to say another word, there were some more footsteps; jaunty footsteps, if that’s a fair way to describe them. Judy’s eyes widened as she listened. Bill Grant had sprung erect. “It’s Mr. Ethelbert Smith,” I said swiftly. “He’s staying with me, you know.” “Oh, damn!” whispered Judy. Then with a swoop she flew to meet him. “Why, Judy!” I heard him cry. “This is delightful!” “Isn’t it?” she agreed. “But,” she went on, reaching around for Bill Grant and hauling him out to be introduced, “this is not the blushing bridegroom; he’s the next best man. Mr. Smith, Mr. Grant. Bruce’s cousin, you know. Bruce had to go to town on an errand, so we’re”--she waved a hand toward the grassy slope--“making hay.” “I can’t blame either of you,” he said gallantly, with a look of frank admiration from one to the other. “A much more respectable occupation than mine has been. I’ve been up there in the woods”--he patted my field-glasses--“spying upon the innocent domesticities of little birds.” There were no more silences after that. We all talked volubly and nobody really said anything. There wasn’t a word about the necklace. I wondered uneasily whether old Mr. Smith wasn’t noticing something unnaturally vacuous about our talk. Certainly for an old family friend he was showing very little curiosity. He wasn’t asking a question. Had he seen anything queer through those damned field-glasses of mine? I kicked that question out of my mind with the contempt it deserved. Judy wasn’t like that, anyhow. The great wonder, what the story was which she’d seemed to be on the point of telling me, I simply didn’t dare let my mind dwell upon. That would have to wait. It was mainly a relief, though my feelings were somewhat mixed, when Judy said, with a queer flicker of a smile at me, “Well, we must be going along. This is going to be a busy day,” and took her “next best man” away with her. They went, not down the path toward my cottage, but back by the way they had come. CHAPTER VIII EXPERT CONSIDERATION I was afraid after they’d gone that old Mr. Smith would begin asking embarrassing questions, but his curiosity, if he had any, was under perfect control.