The wife of former Governor Matthewson was prominent--that is, respectably prominent--in church matters, as in all good works, and the booth over which she presided at the May Church Festival was one of the most attractive and profitable, albeit there was many another that had proved a centre for the younger men and larger boys. Mrs. Matthewson sat in the curtained space behind the main booth, for she was really tired. She was a tall woman, of commanding presence, who had just touched her sixtieth year and upon whom the consciousness of power, and ability to wield it, had left the impress of dignity and strength. The crowd was mainly in front of the booths, but occasionally some one strayed away to the quieter nooks shut off by the booths themselves. Of these were two men, one small and rather unimpressive in appearance, the other larger and more commanding, but with a strange deference towards his companion. The two passed where by accident, apparently, the smaller man had a view of the resting woman, without being too plainly seen himself. The larger man was speaking: “Public opinion is settling on the paper as a forgery.” “Has it discovered a motive?” There was almost a sneer in the tone. “No; nor for the crime; but it firmly believes that the woman never existed.” “It would think me mad or a liar then if I should affirm that she did exist; that she does exist; that in fact I could at a moment’s notice put my hand on Theodore Wing’s mother.” The other smiled. “One might almost imagine you thought her in this room.” “Stranger things have happened;” and the two moved on. If the woman had taken note of the conversation, there was nothing in her manner to indicate it. Had there been, Trafford would have felt keen disappointment, for he had observed her somewhat carefully, and had formed a higher opinion of her capabilities. At the same time, he had not so poor a conception of his own powers of observation as to doubt the correctness of his impression of a slight lifting of the eyebrows and critical scanning of his own face by Mrs. Matthewson, as he loitered slowly back towards the throng in front. He intended, if it was her wish to be able to recognise him again, that she should have the opportunity. After he had passed, she waited a sufficient time not to seem precipitate, then rose and sauntered slowly into the front part of the hall, whence came a constant babble of voices. She was a woman who had seen too many things to be afraid; but as well she was a woman too shrewd to neglect a warning and go on to punishment. She knew she had her warning; she knew that the man who had given it was prepared to deal with her, or he would not have given it; and she knew that boldness would secure the best terms. She had no question that blackmail was at the bottom of the affair.