“I would prefer that this interview should take place without witnesses.” Margaret found that a little surprising, but even then she was not disturbed. There was no connection in her mind between Anne Stanton’s healer and the shabby man who had wooed her cook. “I have no secrets from this gentleman,” she answered, her eyes still laughing. “He has no prejudice against you irregular practitioners. You can decide together what is to be done for me. He is my present physician.” “I had thought he was”—bupp, bupp, explosion—“your co-respondent.” When she said that Peter Kennedy looked up. He tingled all over and his forehead flushed. He made a step forward and then stood still. His instinct told him here was an enemy, an enemy of Margaret’s. He looked, too, at Margaret. “Your name is Gabriel Stanton.” “My name is Peter Kennedy.” Margaret’s quick mind leapt to the truth, saw, and foresaw what was coming. She turned very pale, as if she had been struck. Peter Kennedy moved nearer to her. “Shall I turn her out?” he asked. Mrs. Roope fanned herself with her bonnet strings as if she had said nothing unusual. “You had better see me alone,” she said, not menacingly but as if she had established her point. To save repetition the rest of her conversation can be recorded without the affliction that retarded it. “No,” Margaret answered, her courage at low ebb. “Stay where you are,” she said to Peter Kennedy. “You don’t suppose I am going, do you?” he asked. Mrs. Roope, after a glance, ignored him. “Perhaps you are not aware that you have been under observation for some time. My call on you is one of kindness, of kindness only. James Capel is my husband’s cousin.” At the name of James Capel Margaret gave a little low cry and Peter Kennedy sat down by her side, abruptly. “We heard you were being visited by Gabriel Stanton and a watch was set upon you. Your decree is not yet made absolute. It never will be now, if the King’s Proctor is informed. James, I know, does not wish for a divorce from you.” Margaret sat very still and speechless,—any movement, she knew, might bring on that sickening pain. Peter too realised the position, although he had so little to guide him. “Answer her. Don’t let her think you are afraid. It’s blackmail she’s after. I am sure of it,” he whispered to his patient. Thus strengthened Margaret made an effort for self-control. Peter saw then that the fear was not as new to her as it was to him. “So it is you who have been having this house watched? Is it perhaps your husband who has been making love to my cook?” Since Peter Kennedy was here she would not show the cold fear at her heart. Mrs. Roope was not offended. She had been kicked out of too many houses by irate fathers, brothers, and husbands to be sensitive. “No, that is not my husband. The gentleman who has been here is my nephew. As for making love to your cook, I will not admit it. I suggested your maid.”