“With father and Mr. Fensden beside you, the newspapers will not dare to hint at anything more.” Then for the first time in his life Godfrey felt a vague distrust of Victor Fensden. He put the suspicion from him, however, as being not only dishonourable to his friend, but also to himself. “I have known Victor for a good many years,” he muttered, “and I should surely be familiar with his character by this time.” Yet, despite his resolve to think no ill of the man, he felt that the idea was gaining ground with him. When they reached the house they found Fensden in the drawing-room, comfortably ensconced in a large chair before a roaring fire. He had changed his mind, he asserted, and had not gone for a walk after all. He certainly did not look well. His face was paler than usual, while he was hollow-eyed, as if from want of sleep. As the party, radiant after their walk through the sharp air, entered the room, he looked up at them. “How nice it must be to be so energetic,” he said, languidly. “Godfrey looks disgustingly fit, and more like the ideal country squire than ever. You should paint your own portrait in that capacity.” This time there was no mistaking the sneer. It may have been the thoughts that had occupied his brain as he walked home, but even _he_ could not help coming to the conclusion that the man he had known for so long, whom he had trusted so implicitly, and for whom he had done so much, was no longer well disposed toward himself. He said nothing, however, for Victor was not only his guest, but he had troubles enough of his own just then to look after, without adding to the number. Molly had noticed it also, and commented on it when she and her lover were alone together. “Never mind, dear,” said Godfrey. “It doesn’t matter very much if he has taken a dislike to me. I think the truth of the matter is he is not quite himself. Though he will not show it, I have an idea he is as much cut up by this terrible business as I am myself. He is very highly strung, and the shock has doubtless proved too much for his nerves. You won’t see very much more of him, for he will bring his visit to a close to-morrow morning, as he has decided to go abroad again immediately after the inquest.” “But I thought he was tired of travelling, and that he had stated his desire never to see a foreign hotel again?” “I thought so too, but it appears we were mistaken. However, do not let us talk about him just now. Can you realize, dearest, that in ten days’ time we are to be married?” “I am beginning to realize it,” she answered. “But this terrible affair has thrown such a shadow over our happiness for the last twenty-four hours that I have thought of little else.” “The shadow will soon pass,” he answered. “Then we will go to the sunny South and try to forget all about it.”