reason to think that Cholderton had been in possession of any secrets, and if he had, it would not have occurred to her that he would record them.
"He knew my mother quite well; he used to come and see us. Does he mention her—Madame de Kries?"
There was a perceptible pause; then Neeld answered primly:
"I'm afraid you won't find your mother's name mentioned in Mr. Cholderton's Journal, Madame Zabriska."
"How horrid!" remarked Mina, greatly disappointed; she regarded Mr Neeld with a new interest all the same.
They were both struck with this strange coincidence—as it seemed to them; though in fact that they should meet at Blentmouth was not properly a coincidence at all. There was nothing surprising about it; the same cause and similar impulses had brought them both there. The woman who lay dying at Blent and the young man who sat making love under the tree yonder—these and no more far-fetched causes—had brought them both where they were. Mina knew the truth about herself, Neeld about himself; neither knew or guessed it about the other. Hence their wonder and their unreasonable feeling that there was something of a fate bringing them together in that place.
"You're sure he says nothing about us?" she urged.
"You'll not find a word," he replied, sticking to the form of assertion that salved his conscience. He looked across the lawn again, but Janie and Harry had disappeared amongst the bushes.
"You're sort of old acquaintances at second-hand, then," said Iver, smiling. "Cholderton's the connecting link."