"I'll put it this way--it's a wonder to me that something hasn't peeped out already. You and I know that the facts that the papers have got are not the real ones; there are--how many persons?--goodness only knows!--who are in a position to supply them with something which is a great deal nearer the truth--the whole truth, that is." "And you think that one of those persons has?" "Who knows? So far what struck me most about the matter is, that in spite of the boasted argus eyes of the newspapers, how easy it is to keep things from them. Even the approximate truth of what took place at Avonham would make--if they knew it--the fortunes of half a dozen journalists; and in America they would have got it, long ago; it's possible that here they're going to get it now." The girl's smile had again become wan and faint. "You're a comfortable counsellor; that paragraph in the _Screecher_ gave me my headache; your medicine did it good; but now it's as bad again as ever. I don't think that I care to stroll in the park--even with you." "Whether you care or not you are coming. Go and put on your hat; or am I to carry you off without it?" The girl hesitated; then, without a word, quitted the room. She was absent some minutes; a hat is not put on in a second. When she returned there was something about her eyes which filled the major with uncomfortable suspicions. In silence she led the way downstairs, and he followed. It did not promise to be a very agreeable stroll, although the weather was fine. He seemed to find it hard to make conversation; she certainly declined to help him. They were into the park before a dozen sentences had been exchanged. Then, when they had walked quite a little distance without a word being spoken, all at once, as if moved by a sudden impulse, she made an effort to relieve the situation. "If we walk on much longer, mumchance, like two dumb statues, people will think one of two things; either that we are married--I've been given to understand that husbands and wives never speak to each other when they take their walks abroad--or else that we have quarrelled." He bore himself as if he had a poker down his back, and his eyes were fixed straight in front of him as he replied: "I've not the least objection to their thinking the first." "I dare say; but I have. Will you please talk to me about the weather." Before he had a chance to air his eloquence upon that well-worn subject, something happened which rendered it unnecessary for him to say anything at all. A taxicab had gone rushing past, and as it passed, its occupant, a lady, put out her head to look at them. The cab had not gone another fifty yards before she stopped it. As they approached she was standing on the footpath with the obvious intention of accosting them. Her tone as she did so was enthusiastic. "Miss Forster! This is a pleasure."