"I can tell you," said Bella, removing the hat from his anxious face in order to look into his eyes; "as soon as you are frank with me."
"I have come to be frank with you," said Lister reluctantly.
"It sounds like it."
"My dear"—he sat up to speak more forcibly—"when I am frank you will be as unhappy as I am."
"What do you mean?"
"Mean? I scarcely know what I mean—that is, I scarcely dare put my thoughts into words. Of course, I may be wrong. I sincerely trust that I am wrong. All the same, there is no denying that I have grave grounds for my belief."
"What belief?" Bella asked the question in scared tones, as Cyril looked so wretched.
He did not reply at once, but moved restlessly about, evidently bracing himself to speak plainly. Even when he did open his mouth he was evasive. "I have an idea that my double—that is, the man who was mistaken by you and Pence for me on that night—might be—oh!"—he rested his head between his hands with a groan—"I dare not tell you who he might be."
"You have some idea?"
"Yes; I wish I hadn't."