"Raymond Byatt."
The name conveyed nothing to Royle. He did not even recollect it. But he spoke as if it were quite familiar to him.
"Raymond Byatt? Didn't he stand for Parliament once in Marylebone?"
"Yes. He was defeated."
Royle rose from his chair.
"Well, I had better go down and let the dog in," he said, and he went to the door, where he turned to her again.
"But if he's a friend of yours, you should ask him down," he remarked. Ina drew herself up in her chair, her hands clinging to the arms of it.
"He killed himself a fortnight ago."
The answer turned Royle into a figure of stone. The two people stared at one another across the room in a dreadful silence; and it seemed as if, having once spoken, Ina was forced by some terrible burden of anguish to speak yet more.
"Yes," she continued in a whisper, "a week before we married."