If it were not true, she could deny it, although if she proved to be innocent, and I had made a mistake, I deserved what I should no doubt get; if she were guilty and owned it, she would have some warning at least. That seemed to me the best plan, if I could speak to her; break it to her in some way or other.
A few more days passed. If any doubt was left in my mind, what happened one morning at breakfast would have satisfied me. Lance had taken up the paper. I was reading some letters, and Mrs. Fleming making tea.
Lance looked suddenly from his paper.
"I used to think drink was the greatest curse in England," he said.
"Have you changed your opinion?" I asked.
"I have. I think now the crying sin of the country is child-murder."
As he uttered the words his wife was just in the act of pouring some cream into my cup; it did not surprise me that the pretty silver jug and the cream all fell together. Lance laughed aloud.
"Why, Frances," he cried; "I have never seen you do such a clumsy thing before."
She was deadly pale, her hand shaking.
"I have frightened myself," she said, "and no wonder with such a noise."