He seemed to have hanged him, then; "that curved thing on the door" evidently meant a hook. That was rather revolting; these were the things about murder that Louie had not wanted to know. "Sort of grim tale he would write," said Sir Julius to the pencil; "and of course--_de mortuis_ and so on--but he did marry the wrong woman. I suppose they're together again now." Suddenly Louie put down her notebook and pencil. Her voice, too, as she spoke, seemed to her a sort of tele-voice. "Will you excuse me just a moment?" she said. "I'm thirsty." She went out. When she returned, three or four minutes later, Sir Julius sniffed once or twice and asked her if she had a toothache. She took up the pencil and notebook again. Sir Julius resumed. "What was I saying? Oh yes, about his marrying the wrong woman.... But he was a mass of contradictions, and one of 'em was that he merely idealised her. Pretty, of course, but poor Jeffries could have done better for himself than that. She never could bear me...." Louie felt no difference yet; she did not know how long these things took. For a moment she wondered what would happen after ... and then it struck her as foolish to wonder about a thing she would know so soon. She fastened her eyes on the pencil again. It went on writing, and Louie was thinking of her loved little Jimmy now.... She could not have done very much for him; he might even have grown up to bear her some sort of a grudge; Roy would adopt him; he would be far, far better with Roy. There was a pony out at grass for him now; he would ride and shoot and fish, and his father would send him into the army; and perhaps there was already a baby girl somewhere in the world who would one day be his wife--the right wife. "Was die Mutter träumt, das vollbringt der Sohn...." It was far, far better.... "Well," the pencil wrote, "there's nothing to be said now, poor creatures.... Funny smell in here, Miss Causton; I'll smoke if you don't mind." Sir Julius lighted a cigar. Its penetrating odour mingled with that of the sweet, releasing stuff. Ah! It was coming! The pencil wrote no less quickly, but it looked a little smaller and farther away. "But sometimes it made me almost angry that he hadn't married the woman he ought...." Louie felt her head sinking.... Yes, the woman he ought.... That had been the real fatality.... Her lids dropped for a moment, and then heavily lifted again; but she could still see the pencil--mistily--dreamily--as if endued with a life not her own--flying on. THE END