The phrase was formal and he brought it out irresolutely, chilled as he was by her reception. She was looking at him dispassionately, her forehead a little puckered, her eyes a trifle hard. “Won’t you sit down,” she said. “There is something I wanted to say!” He was looking at her now in a puzzled fashion. With rather feigned deliberation he chose a chair and sat down facing the fire. A lamp on the mantelpiece—the only light in the room—threw its rays on his face. His chin was set rather more squarely than his wont and his eyes were shining. “Mary,”—he leant forward towards her,—“please forget what I said this afternoon. It was beastly of me, but I hardly knew what I was doing....” She made a little gesture as if to wave his apology aside. Then, with her hands clasped in front of her, scanning the nails, she asked, almost casually: “What did you say to Hartley Parrish in the library this afternoon?” Robin stared at her in amazement. “But I was not in the library!” he answered. The girl dropped her hands sharply to her side. “Don’t quibble with me, Robin,” she said. “What did you say to Hartley Parrish after you left me this afternoon in the billiard-room?” He was still staring at her, but now there was a deep furrow between his brows. He was breathing rather hard. “I did not speak to Parrish at all after I left you.” His answer was curt and incisive. “Do you mean to tell me,” Mary said, “that, after you left me and went down the corridor towards the library, you neither went in to Hartley nor spoke to him!” “I do!” “Then how do you account for the fact that, almost immediately after you had crossed Bude in the hall, he heard the sound of voices in the library?” Robin Greve stood up abruptly. “Bude, you say, makes this statement?” “Certainly!” “To whom, may I ask?” He spoke sharply and there was a challenging ring in his voice. It nettled the girl. “Only to me,” she said quickly, and added: “You needn’t think he has told the police!” Very deliberately Robin plucked his handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped his lips, and replaced it. The girl saw that his hands were trembling. “Why do you say that to me?” he demanded rather fiercely. Mary Trevert shrugged her shoulders. “This afternoon,” she said, “when I told you of my engagement to Hartley, you began by abusing him to me, you rushed from the room making straight for the library where we all know that Hartley was working, and a few minutes after Bude hears voices raised in anger proceeding from there. The next thing we know is that Hartley has ...” She broke off and looked away. “Mary,”—Robin’s voice was grave, and he had mastered all signs of irritation,—“you and I have known one another all our lives. You ought to know me well enough by now to understand that I don’t tell you lies. When I say I haven’t seen or spoken to Hartley Parrish since lunch this afternoon, that is the truth!”