To the girl it was neither. She was often amused by her mother’s ways; sometimes ashamed of them; sometimes distressed by them. The Mark Ablett affair had seemed to her particularly distressing, for Mark was so obviously in league with her mother against her. Other suitors, upon whom her mother had smiled, had been embarrassed by that championship; Mark appeared to depend on it as much as on his own attractions; great though he thought these to be. They went a-wooing together. It was a pleasure to turn to Cayley, that hopeless ineligible. But alas! Cayley had misunderstood her. She could not imagine Cayley in love—until she saw it, and tried, too late, to stop it. That was four days ago. She had not seen him since, and now here was this letter. She dreaded opening it. It was a relief to feel that at least she had an excuse for not doing so while her guests were in the house. Mrs. Norbury recognized at once that Antony was likely to be the more sympathetic listener; and when tea was over, and Bill and Angela had been dispatched to the garden with the promptness and efficiency of the expert, dear Mr. Gillingham found himself on the sofa beside her, listening to many things which were of even greater interest to him than she could possibly have hoped. “It is terrible, terrible,” she said. “And to suggest that dear Mr. Ablett—” Antony made suitable noises. “You’ve seen Mr. Ablett for yourself. A kinder, more warmhearted man—” Antony explained that he had not seen Mr. Ablett. “Of course, yes, I was forgetting. But, believe me, Mr. Gillingham, you can trust a woman’s intuition in these matters.” Antony said that he was sure of this. “Think of my feelings as a mother.” Antony was thinking of Miss Norbury’s feelings as a daughter, and wondering if she guessed that her affairs were now being discussed with a stranger. Yet what could he do? What, indeed, did he want to do except listen, in the hope of learning? Mark engaged, or about to be engaged! Had that any bearing on the events of yesterday? What, for instance, would Mrs. Norbury have thought of brother Robert, that family skeleton? Was this another reason for wanting brother Robert out of the way? “I never liked him, never!” “Never liked——?” said Antony, bewildered. “That cousin of his—Mr. Cayley.” “Oh!” “I ask you, Mr. Gillingham, am I the sort of woman to trust my little girl to a man who would go about shooting his only brother?” “I’m sure you wouldn’t, Mrs. Norbury.” “If there has been any shooting done, it has been done by somebody else.” Antony looked at her inquiringly. “I never liked him,” said Mrs. Norbury firmly. “Never.” However, thought Antony to himself, that didn’t quite prove that Cayley was a murderer. “How did Miss Norbury get on with him?” he asked cautiously. “There was _nothing_ in that at all,” said Miss Norbury’s mother emphatically. “_Nothing_. I would say so to anybody.” “Oh, I beg your pardon. I never meant—”