“Oh, don’t talk like that, please. Murder is something exceptional—a hideous solecism in nature—and in this case why murder? What had Sir Godfrey Carmichael done that any member of the Strangway family should want to kill him?” “I tell you that the idea is a wild one, the morbid growth of my cousin’s sorrow.” “Of course it is. I am very sorry for her, poor soul. I don’t suppose any woman could suffer more than she must have suffered. It is a dreadful story. And she was very fond of her husband, I dare say.” “She adored him. They had been lovers almost from her childhood. There never were a more devoted bride and bridegroom. Their honeymoon was not even beginning to wane. They were still lovers, still in a state of sweet surprise at finding themselves husband and wife. Poor girl, I saw her the day before the murder, a brilliant creature, the very spirit of joy. I saw her the morning after, a spectre, with awful eyes and marble face—more dreadful to look upon than her murdered husband.” “It is all too sad,” sighed Miss Newton. “I begin to think that Cheriton is a fatal house, and that no one can be happy there. However, you can tell this poor lady that the Strangways are exonerated from any part in her misery.” “I shall write to her to-night to that effect. And now, Miss Newton, let me thank you once more for your friendly frankness, and wish you a good night.” “Don’t be in such a hurry, Mr. Dalbrook. I like your face, and I should like to see you again some day, if you can find time to waste an hour upon an old maid in such a God-forsaken place as Wedgewood Street.” “I shall think an hour so spent most delightfully employed,” answered Theodore, who was quite subjugated by the charm of this little person and her surroundings. He did not remember having ever sat in a room he liked better than this first-floor front in Wedgewood Street, with its terra-cotta walls, prettily-bound books, curious oddments of old china, and comfortable curtains of creamy workhouse-sheeting, with a bold vermilion border worked by Sarah Newton’s indefatigable fingers. “I should very much like to hear all about your life in this—strange neighbourhood,” he said.