"I am not so certain," I replied with bitterness. "The more deeply I attempt to probe this mystery, the more sorrow I heap upon myself. I was happy in the belief that she loved no other man except me, yet apparently she is as tactful as an adventuress, and delights in toying with a man's affections." "Every woman is fickle," my friend remarked sympathetically. "If she is thrown into the society of one man frequently, and passes idle hours alone with him, she either ends in loving him or hating him. There is little purely platonic friendship between men and women nowadays." "Yes, alas!" I echoed, as we entered the carriage drive and passed the well-remembered spot where I had discovered the body. "There is very little indeed." A quarter of an hour later I stood alone before the window of the bright morning-room which commanded a beautiful view of the brilliant, sunlit Thames, and the row of tall, swaying poplars and drooping, wind-whitened willows on the opposite shore. I was awaiting Ella, who had, her maid told me, gone to her room. Presently, pale-faced and trembling, she entered, and, closing the door, moved slowly towards me, stretching forth her hand in silence, her tearful eyes downcast. I grasped the slim, white fingers, and found them cold as marble. "Geoffrey," she exclaimed, low and huskily. "Geoffrey, forgive me!" "Forgive! For what reason?" I inquired sternly, looking at her in admiration, yet determined to be firm. This was, I resolved, to be our last interview. "Because I--I was foolish and weak, and--" She paused, sighing deeply. "Well?" I said cynically. "What other excuse?" "Yes, yes," she cried brokenly. "I know they are mean, paltry excuses. I know I am trying to make you believe it was not my own fault, yet--" and pausing again, she raised her clear blue eyes to mine with passionate glance, "and yet, Geoffrey, I love you in a manner I have loved no other man before." "You have a strange way of exhibiting this so-called affection," I observed coldly. "You actually encouraged the advances of the man in whom I reposed foolish and ill-placed confidence." "For a purpose. I never loved him--never," she protested, trembling. "You had a reason? A strange one, I should think," I exclaimed angrily. "Indeed, at this very moment you are mourning the loss of this man." "Dudley Ogle was not your enemy, Geoffrey. He was your friend," she answered, with a tremor in her voice. "Some day I will prove this to you. I cannot now. It is impossible." "Why?" "I dare not!" "Dare not! What do you fear?" I demanded in surprise, instantly releasing her hand. "The consequences would be fatal to our love," she gasped. Then, after a pause, she clutched my arm, and, burying her beautiful face upon my shoulder, sobbed bitterly.