“It was odd, your not going home that night,” the coroner coldly pursued. “The misunderstanding you had with your wife immediately after breakfast must have been a very serious one; more serious than you have hitherto acknowledged.” “I had rather not discuss the subject,” protested Mr. Jeffrey. Then as if he suddenly recognized the official character of his interlocutor, he hastily added: “Unless you positively request me to do so; in which case I must.” “I am afraid that I must insist upon it,” returned the other. “You will find that it will be insisted upon at the inquest, and if you do not wish to subject yourself to much unnecessary unpleasantness, you had better make clear to us today the cause of that special quarrel which to all intents and purposes led to your wife’s death.” “I will try to do so,” returned Mr. Jeffrey, rising and pacing the room in his intense restlessness. “We did have some words; her conduct the night before had not pleased me. I am naturally jealous, vilely jealous, and I thought she was a little frivolous at the German ambassador’s ball. But I had no idea she would take my sharp speeches so much to heart. I had no idea that she would care so much or that I should care so much. A little jealousy is certainly pardonable in a bridegroom, and if her mind had not already been upset, she would have remembered how I loved her and hopefully waited for a reconciliation.” “You did love your wife, then? It was you and not she who had a right to be jealous? I have heard the contrary stated. It is a matter of public gossip that you loved another woman previous to your acquaintance with Miss Moore; a woman whom your wife regarded with sisterly affection and subsequently took into her new home.” “Miss Tuttle?” Mr. Jeffrey stopped in his walk to fling out this ejaculation. “I admire and respect Miss Tuttle,” he went on to declare, “but I never loved her. Not as I did my wife,” he finished, but with a certain hard accent, apparent enough to a sensitive ear. “Pardon me; it is as difficult for me to put these questions as it is for you to hear them. Were you and Miss Tuttle ever engaged?” I started. This was a question which half of Washington had been asking itself for the last three months. Would Mr. Jeffrey answer it? or, remembering that these questions were rather friendly than official, refuse to satisfy a curiosity which he might well consider intrusive? The set aspect of his features promised little in the way of information, and we were both surprised when a moment later he responded with a grim emphasis hardly to be expected from one of his impulsive temperament: “Unhappily, no. My attentions never went so far.” Instantly the coroner pounced on the one weak word which Mr. Jeffrey had let fall. “Unhappily?” he repeated. “Why do you say, _unhappily?_” Mr. Jeffrey flushed and seemed to come out of some dream.