Did Charlotte intend that as a shaft? Lord Averil's cheek burnt as he endeavoured to recall the reminiscence. "I think I remember it," he slowly said. "It was just before I went abroad. Yes, I do remember it," he added, after a pause. "You were riding with a young, fair man. And--did you not--really I beg your pardon if I am wrong--did you not introduce him to me as Mr. Pain?" "It was Mr. Pain," replied Charlotte. "I hope he is well. He is not here probably? I did not see him at table, I think." Charlotte's face--I mean its complexion--was got up in the fashion. But the crimson that suffused it would have penetrated all the powder and cosmetics extant, let them have been laid on ever so profusely. She was really agitated: could not for the time speak. Another moment and she turned deadly pale. Let us admire her at any rate, for this feeling shown to her departed husband. "My husband is dead, Lord Averil." Lord Averil felt shocked at his blunder. "You must forgive me," he said in a gentle voice, his tone, his manner, showing the deepest sympathy. "I had no idea of it. No one has mentioned it to me since my return. The loss, I infer, cannot be a very recent one?" In point of fact, Mr. Pain's demise had occurred immediately after the departure of Lord Averil from England. Charlotte is telling him so. It could not, she thinks, have been more than a week or two subsequent to it. "Then he could not have been ill long," remarked his lordship. "What was the cause----?" "Oh pray do not make me recall it!" interrupted Charlotte in a tone of pain. "He died suddenly: but--it was altogether very distressing. Distressing to me, and distressing in its attendant circumstances." An idea flashed over the mind of Lord Averil that the circumstances of the death must have been peculiar: in short, that Mr. Pain might have committed suicide. If he was wrong, Charlotte's manner was to blame. It was from that he gathered the thought. That the subject was a most unwelcome one, there could be no doubt; she palpably shrank from it. Murmuring again a few clear words of considerate apology, Lord Averil changed the conversation, and presently said adieu to Charlotte. "You surely are not thinking of going yet?" cried Charlotte, retaining his hand, and recovering all her lightness of manner. "They are setting out the whist-tables." "I do not play. I have a visit to pay yet to a sick friend," he added, glancing at his watch. "I shall still be in time." "But I do not think your carriage is here," urged Charlotte, who would fain have detained him. "I am sure it is not here," was the peer's answer. "I did not order it to come for me. It is a fine night, and I shall walk to Prior's Ash."