"I am sensible and reasonable," said Frances firmly, knitting with an obstinate mouth. "I really love you, dear, but I can't sacrifice my independence to be a hanger-on. All the same, until you have a husband I don't feel justified in leaving you, so feather-headed, to your own devices."
"I am not so weak-minded as you think," flushed Ida crossly.
"Yes, you are, my dear. You can't say whether you love Colonel Towton or Mr. Maunders. You don't know your own feelings."
"Yes, I do. I really believe I love Colonel Towton. I know that I did before Constantine appeared. Then I took a fancy to him. Now that fancy has gone, and I again love the Colonel. Yes," Ida paused meditatively, "I am sure that I love the Colonel."
"Pooh! Pooh! Just what I said: you don't know your own mind."
"I wish you would carry out your first impulse, Ida, and marry Colonel Towton. He's a good man and Maunders isn't." This came from Vernon.
"I feel that," muttered Ida, "but he fascinates me. And, after all, he is trying to learn who killed my father."
"So am I," said Vernon drily, "yet you don't love me. Not that I want you to," he added hurriedly and colouring. "But about Maunders; has he ever said anything to you likely to reveal the name of the assassin?"
"No. Why do you ask?" inquired Ida, and even Frances stopped knitting to look steadily at Vernon.
"Do you suspect that Mr. Maunders knows more than he admits?" asked Miss Hest.