“But I fancied, perhaps, that Monica’s influence had made them friends. Randolph knew some disreputable story connected with Sir Conrad’s past life—Haddon knows more about it than I do—and he always hated him for it.”
“Ah!” said Tom again.
“Why do you ask?” questioned Beatrice again; but he gave her no answer. He was wrapped in deep thought. She looked at him once or twice, but said no more. He was the first to speak, and the question was a little significant.
“You were down on the shore with Monica and Trevlyn that night, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“Was Fitzgerald there, too?”
She looked at him with startled eyes.
“No; certainly not.”
“Can you be sure of that? Was there moon enough to show plainly everything that went on?”
Beatrice put up her hand to her head.