I do not think she altogether grasped my meaning. Indeed I doubt if I myself clearly understood what it was I wished to say. I told them what arrangements I was making with regard to the funeral, and so on, Reggie showing himself quite of my opinion that everything should be done as quietly as possible. Had the third marquis died, after a well-ordered life, in the odour of sanctity, his corpse might have been interred with all possible honour; as things were, it was advisable that he should be laid in his last resting-place with as little form and ceremony as was compatible with decency. When I left the room, anxious to be by myself, to think, Edith followed me. For the first time in my life I found her presence irksome. She followed me to the small apartment which I dignified by the name of library, evidently assured of the welcome which hitherto had never failed her. 'At last!' she began, as soon as we were alone together. I busied myself with some papers which were on my writing-table. 'Yes; at last.' 'We have waited for it a good many years; you and I.' 'That is so.' This was platitudinous. I felt that if she had nothing more original to say I should have to ask her to excuse me if I gave my attention to matters which pressed. Her words, her voice, her very neighbourhood, seemed to have a singular effect upon my nervous system. It was as if I were ashamed. In some curious way, it was as if I were afraid of her. I wanted to take her in my arms; to hold her to me; to find strength in her sweet tenderness; for it was strength I needed. But I was conscious of an awkward inability to do as I had done a hundred times before--ay, a thousand. A shadowy something seemed to have interposed itself between us, as her own quick sight perceived. 'What is the matter with you, Douglas?' The question took me aback. I looked up at her with a start, experiencing an unwonted difficulty in meeting her inquiring glances. 'The matter? Why?' 'You seem changed.' 'Changed? It's your fancy.' 'It's a very vivid fancy then. I noticed it first the night you dined with us.' On the afternoon of that day I had first seen the sleeping man. Are there any detectives like the eyes of the woman who loves? 'It has grown more perceptible since. Until now it sits upon you in a guise so that you seem transformed.' 'Many things have happened during the last day or two.' 'Yes. Have you told us of them all?' 'Of them all? What do you mean?' 'Douglas, don't you know what I mean?' She came close to me, laying her hand upon my arm. I actually quivered beneath her touch; a fact of which I had an uncomfortable conviction she was conscious. 'I've another fancy--which is also a very vivid one, that there is something behind all this of which you've said nothing. Douglas, can't you tell me?' 'What your fancy is? I'm afraid you ask something which is beyond my capacity; since it probably takes the shape of poetry rather than prose.' 'Douglas--is Twickenham married?'