"Poor soul--how terrible you must have felt! Thank God, you escaped with your life! We ought to feel grateful for that. Suppose I had been compelled to tell Mary that you were drowned. It would have killed her--you know that. Do you remember what you told her when you went away?" He stared at her, not understanding. "Told who?" he said cautiously. "Mary." "Oh, yes--Mary--of course--you mean your sister----" Helen looked at him in amazement, then in alarm. Could the wreck have affected his mind? Laughingly she retorted: "Ray? Of course not. How foolish you are, Kenneth. Don't you remember that your old nurse came to see you before you sailed?" He nodded and coughed uneasily, moving restlessly about in his chair, as if to hide his embarrassment. These questions were decidedly unpleasant. Inwardly he wished Francois was present to help him out. "Mary? Oh, yes, I remember--of course--of course----" The look of anxiety in the young woman's face deepened. His memory failed him completely. Changing the subject she said quickly: "There's something else I wish to mention to you, dear. It is about Signor Keralio----" He started quickly to his feet. How came his brother's wife to know the name of the arch-plotter, the man who had sentenced her own husband to death? Was it possible that she knew more? Was she aware of his real identity? Was her present amiability of manner merely simulated? Was she waiting her time before calling in the police and exposing him as an impostor? "Keralio?" he echoed hoarsely. "What about Keralio?" Making a step forward he exclaimed savagely: "Has he squealed? Is the game up? He's to blame, not I!" Impulsively, instinctively, Helen sprang from her chair and fell back with a startled exclamation. Now thoroughly alarmed, more than ever convinced that the shipwreck had affected his brain, her one solicitude was to keep him quiet until she could get a doctor. Soothingly she said: "Of course, dear; of course. We won't speak of Signor Keralio now. He's not worth discussing anyhow." He watched her closely for a moment, as if trying to see if she were deceiving him, but her face was frank and serene. Suddenly, taking hold of her hand, which she abandoned willingly enough in his, he murmured: "You mustn't mind what I say. I'll soon be all right. I'm a bit mixed up. My mind's been queer ever since that awful night." "Perhaps you would prefer if we had no one to dinner. I could easily give some excuse and put them all off." His first impulse was to promptly accept this suggestion, yet what was the good? If he did not meet them to-day he must do so to-morrow. It was best to get it over with. The quicker he got to know the people the easier it would be for him. If he seemed to avoid meeting them, it might only arouse suspicion. Shaking his head, he said: "No, dear. That's all right. I'm glad they're coming. It will liven things up."