"Don't! Her mother is the kind of woman who flits, and I won't have her doing the butterfly business in that way."
"Oh, I don't think we'll be troubled much with Mrs. Ward. Since the shock inflicted by her sister's sad death she has become religious."
"Bah! That's only a phrase. Poor Miss Bull," said Derrington. "I like to think of her under that name. She had a sad life. I don't wonder she killed herself. Do you think she was mad, George?"
"No. But I think the memory of her wrongs, which were all caused by Mrs. Jersey, was too much for her. She was mad for the moment, but she told me the terrible story in the calmest manner."
"And who came in at the front door that night?" asked Derrington.
"No one. After the murder Miss Bull opened it to fly--panic-struck, I expect--but Margery came downstairs and stopped her. Miss Bull closed the door and remained to face the worst."
"Well, she is dead and buried, and the scandal is laid at rest. Unless that Bawdsey revives it."
"Oh, you can trust Bawdsey," said George, smiling; "he and Lola are quite happy, and she has almost forgotten me. I got a letter from Bawdsey the other day. He is acting as his wife's agent, and they are making a lot of money."
"All the better. He won't talk about that business. By the way, I forgot to ask you about Ireland's money?"
"The money he left to me? I have settled that on Dorothy. How suddenly he died," said George, reflectively; "just an hour after I left the house. I hope his end was peace. I think it was, as he felt relieved that you and I had forgiven him."