“It was the night that I arrived. She had fixed up one of those ghastly entertainments which are now, thank Heaven, practically extinct. Somebody sings and nobody listens, and you meet everybody you particularly want to avoid. Mercifully I ran into an old pal, also of your calling, Actor-man—Violet Seymour. No reason why I should disguise her name at any rate. She was not acting at the moment, and we sat in a sort of alcove-place at the top of the stairs, on the same landing as the reception-room. “‘There’s going to be a break here soon, Bill,’ she said to me after a while. ‘Ruth is going to snap.’ “‘Poor girl!’ I answered. ‘But what the devil can one do, Violet?’ “‘Nothing,’ she said fiercely, ‘except alter your abominably unjust laws. Why can’t she get a divorce, Bill? It’s vile—utterly vile.’ “And then—well, let’s call him Sir Edward Shoreham, joined us. He was on the Bench—a judge, which makes the disguise of a false name pretty thin, especially in view of what is to come. I remember he had recently taken a murder case—one that had aroused a good deal of popular attention—and the prisoner had been found guilty. We were talking about it at the time Sir Edward arrived, with Violet, as usual, tilting lances against every form of authority. “I can see her now as she turned to Sir Edward with a sort of dreadful fascination on her face. “‘And so you sentenced him to death?’ “He nodded gravely. ‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘He was guilty.’ “And then she turned half-away, speaking almost under her breath. “‘And doesn’t it ever appall you? Make you wake in the middle of the night, with your mouth dry and your throat parched. All this—life, love—and in a cell, a man waiting—a man you’ve sent there. Ticking off the days on his nerveless fingers—staring out at the sun. My God! it would drive me mad.’ “Ned Shoreham smiled a little grimly. “‘You seem to forget one unimportant factor,’ he answered; ‘the wretched woman that man killed.’ “‘No, I don’t,’ she cried. ‘But the punishment is so immeasurably worse than the crime. I don’t think death would matter if it came suddenly; but to sit waiting with a sort of sickening helplessness——’ “It was then Ruth Granger joined us. Some woman was singing in the reception-room and, for the moment, she was free from her duties as hostess. “‘You seem very serious,’ she said with her grave, sweet smile, holding out her hand to Sir Edward. “‘Miss Seymour is a revolutionary,’ he answered lightly, and I happened at that moment to glance at Ruth. And for the moment she had let the mask slip as she looked at Ned Shoreham’s face. Then it was replaced, but their secret was out, as far as I was concerned, though on matters of affection I am the least observant of mortals. If they weren’t in love with one another, they were as near to it as made no odds. And it gave me a bit of a shock.