But like a woman, having brought the matter to a point, she changed the subject hurriedly.
"Nothing, nothing!" she declared, hurriedly. "I am engaged to you, Eustace, if you find out who killed Walter."
"So I understand," he replied sadly. "But there is no love on your side, my dear."
"I told you plainly what I thought."
"You did, and I should not have taken advantage of your position. I think we had better--"
"Stop!" she interrupted, and in the moonlight he could see her bosom heave. "You had better not say too much. Let us leave the subject alone until we get out of these troubles."
Eustace was quite willing to do this. He could scarcely tax her with being in love with Frank on the evidence of Darrel. But he was resolved to question Lancaster at the first opportunity. Meantime, seeing that Mildred was disposed to grow angry, he thought it best to leave the matter alone.
"Where is he?" was his question.
Mildred looked round as though she thought the birds of the air might overhear.
"He is in the summerhouse," she said. "There is a small room at the back, which I fitted up as a kind of studio for painting."