As the old woman came in, carefully closing the door behind her, he looked up and saw that the streaky apple-red had faded from the firm round cheeks, and yet--and yet her look was one of only half-concealed triumph, not of distress or fear. For a moment they gazed at one another fixedly, then 'Is it true,' she asked briefly; 'is it really true, Mr. Ludovic? I was minded to go down and see for myself, but I'm told there's the police people down there, and I thought maybe I'd better not meddle.' 'Yes,' he said rather sternly, 'it is quite true. An awful thing, Motey, to have happened here, in your mistress's house!' He felt impelled to add these words, revolted by the look of relief, almost of joy, in the woman's pale face. Then into his mind there shot a sudden gleam of light, of escape. 'I suppose,' he said, 'that you don't feel _you_ could tell her, Motey?' A note of appeal, almost of anguish, thrilled in the young man's voice. 'No,' she answered decidedly. 'The telling of such things is men's work. I couldn't bring myself to do it; you don't care for her as I do, and she'll forgive you a sight quicker than she would me. I'll have to do the best I can for her afterwards.' The furtive joy died out of Mrs. Mote's old face, and, as she turned and left the room, her dull eyes filled with reluctant tears. V At last the sound of wheels for which he had been listening so long fell on his ear, and hurriedly he went to fetch that which he felt should be given to his cousin without loss of time. He hoped, with a cowardly hope, that bad news, which ever travels quickly, had already met Mrs. Robinson on her way home. Having given a brief order that they were not to be disturbed, Wantley made his way to the studio with the jewel-case in his hand. For a moment he waited just inside the door. Penelope was standing at the further end of the long room, leaning over the marble top of the high mantelpiece, writing out a telegram. She still wore a large straw hat, of which the sides, flattened down over her ears by broad black ribbons tied under the chin, framed her face, and gave a softened, old-fashioned grace to her tall, rounded figure. As Wantley finally advanced towards her, she looked up, and her glance, her suspended writing--above all, her blue eyes full of questioning anger at the intrusion of his presence--showed him that she knew nothing, that the task he had so greatly dreaded lay before him. Taking his stand by the other side of the mantelpiece, he put down the case containing her letters, and pushed it towards her. Twice he opened his lips but closed them again without speaking.