"He did not know I was coming," Edith responded in a low voice. "That is what I came to talk about. I thought you might understand; but it involves a third person, and perhaps I ought not to tell you. I am sure, though," she went on, gaining confidence now that the ice was broken, "that I can trust you. A friend of Arthur's came to dine to-night, and just as the door-bell rang, I found him to be the man I once saw commit murder in Paris." "Murder!" exclaimed Helen, turning white. "Commit murder?" "Consent to it," corrected Edith, unconsciously a little pleased to have produced so great an effect upon her usually self-possessed friend. "He looked on while Frontier took poison, without trying to prevent him." "But that," Mrs. Greyson said slowly, "is hardly the same thing as murder." "It is quite as bad," Edith protested earnestly. "It makes me shudder to think of his dining alone with Arthur at this moment. Who knows what might happen!" "Nothing tragic, I think," Helen replied smiling. "He does not go about with pistols in his belt, I suppose.' "It is awful to me," Edith continued, with increasing excitement, too much stirred to notice the sarcasm. "I told Arthur I could not sit down with a murderer, and just at that moment we heard his step, and I ran away upstairs; and then I felt dreadfully, and I came to you." "I thank you for your confidence. But what do you mean to do? What will Arthur tell him?" "The truth, I hope." "He is scarcely likely to say to the guest he has himself invited that you think him a murderer," answered her friend, smiling again, "and I am not sure that he would even look at this quite so severely as you do." "How else can he look at it?" demanded Edith. "How else can any one look at it? Isn't it murder to take human life, and if one does not prevent suicide when he might, isn't it the same as if he did it himself?" "We will not get into a discussion," Helen replied gently. "I feel about it as you do; though I believe very differently. But I see perfectly well how a man might be strictly honest in thinking that it was the privilege of any human being to lay aside his life when he is weary of it; and I do not presume to condemn others for feeling what I only think I believe." "Think you believe!" cried the other in horror. "You do not think you believe that murder is right?" "Assuredly not; but as there are so many related points upon which we do not agree, would it not be better to talk of this particular case than of general belief?" "But it is impossible for any one to believe as you say," persisted Edith; "simply impossible. No one can believe that wrong is right." "But each has his own standard." Against this Edith protested, but Helen returned no answer. She regretted being involved in such a debate, and resolved to let the discussion go no further. They sat in silence a moment, and then Edith again spoke.