He was wrong there, for Carmela liked him very much--in fact, more than she cared to acknowledge to herself; but she would not allow him to speak because--well, because she was a riddle. Woman is an eternal riddle that man has been trying to solve since the beginning of the world, but every attempt has failed.
Monteith, however, took his failure like the honest gentleman he was, and turned the conversation. Remembering his anxiety to solve the mystery of Ventin's death, he thought he would question his fair companion. "Did you know a lady in Valletta called Mrs. Ventin?" he asked, as they walked slowly along in the burning sun.
"No, I never heard the name before," replied Carmela promptly, looking at him.
"Of course not," thought Monteith; "it wasn't his right name."
"Who is she?" said Carmela carelessly; "that's the same name as the gentleman who died."
"She was his wife," replied Ronald.
"Does she live at Valletta?" asked Miss Cotoner.
"I think so."
"Strange I never met her."
"She was married to my friend seven years ago."