"Oh, no!" cried Diana indignantly. "He was a trifle weak in the head from overwork but quite capable of looking after himself."
"Did he indulge in strong drink?"
Miss Vrain looked scandalised. "My father was singularly abstemious in eating and drinking," she said stiffly. "Why do you ask such a question?"
"I beg your pardon," replied Lucian, with all humility, "but it was reported in Geneva Square that Berwin—the name by which your father was known—drank too much; and when I met him he was certainly not—not quite himself," finished the barrister delicately.
"No doubt his troubles drove him to take more than was good for him," said Diana in a low voice. "Yet I wonder at it, for his health was none of the best. Sometimes, I admit, he took sleeping draughts and—and—drugs."
"He was consumptive," said Lucian, noticing Diana's hesitation to speak plainly.
"His chest was weak, and consumption may have developed itself, but when I left England, almost two years back, he was certainly not suffering from that disease. But I see how it is," said Diana, wringing her hands. "During my short absence, and under the tyranny of his wife, his physical health and moral principles gave way. Drink and consumption! Ah! God! were not these ills enough but what the woman must add murder to cap them both?"
"We do not know yet if she is guilty," said Lucian quietly. "Will you go on with your story, Miss Vrain? Later on we can discuss these matters, when I am in possession of the facts. You say it was an evil hour when you went to Italy."
"It was indeed," said Diana sorrowfully, "for in Florence, at the Pension Donizetti, on the Lung Arno, we met with Lydia Clyne and her father. They had only lately arrived in Italy—from New York, I suppose—but already she was said to be engaged to a needy Italian nobleman named Hercule Ferruci."