"But Mrs. Dumps--" "Oh, the mother living here naturally thinks Ferdy a good match." "Well, he is. He will have two thousand a year." "Butterfly will want ten thousand. From all I have heard she has a wonderful capacity for spending." "Is she--is she--," Clarice hesitated, "quite respectable?" "Oh, quite," assented Ackworth, decisively, "she's too clever a young woman to play fast and loose with her reputation. She wants to marry well, you see, and therefore keeps straight. But I don't think you need be afraid of Ferdy, darling. He's only one of the many moths that have fluttered round that candle. Now that he's engaged he'll forget her. And, after all, it's mere talk. He may not be in love with Butterfly at all." "Why should he visit her, so--" "He may have gone to see the mother, or to have a drink," said Anthony, vaguely. "Ferdy's an ass, but he's all right." "But Dr. Jerce says he drinks and gambles, and--" "I'll have to talk to Ferdy, and see if I can lead him in the right way," said Ackworth, with some impatience. "Don't trouble yourself over your brother, dearest. Every young man of that age is more or less of an ass. But it's only like a young colt kicking his heels in a flowery meadow." "Then I need not worry, Anthony?" "No, I'll speak to Ferdy and take this especial worry off your shoulders, my dear. Anything else?" "This." Clarice held out the letter, without explanation, as she wanted to know if the elusive memory would come more clearly to Anthony. He opened the envelope in silence, then sprang up with a shout when he saw the contents. "The Purple Fern, by Jupiter!" said Ackworth, staring. "What does it mean?" asked Clarice, vaguely terrified. Ackworth looked anxious. "Nothing very pleasant," he muttered; "I thought it had been stamped out." "What had been stamped out?" "This purple fern business. Don't you remember that the papers were full of it a year ago, Clarry?" Clarice put her hand to her head. The memory came back with a rush, and she now knew why the pictorial representation of the fern had been vaguely familiar to her. "Oh," she exclaimed, "does it mean death to Uncle Henry?" "What?" Anthony looked relieved. "Then _you_ did not get it?" "No. Uncle Henry told me that he found it outside his bedroom window. I expect he remembered about the murders, and received the shock he talked about. Why do you look so relieved?" "I thought that the warning might have been directed to you," muttered Ackworth, turning over the envelope, "apparently it is not, and perhaps not even to Mr. Horran, since there is no address." "Tell me, Anthony, exactly what it means," said Clarice, anxiously. "I remember reading a lot about those murders, but I almost forget."