"I don't know, but I wish to God she'd tell the true story to John, and be done with it. You've no idea of the atmosphere of cabal and mystery we live in. I have to think before I speak every time I wish to make an observation."
"That must come hard on you," said Neville. "Where are they, by the way?"
"In bed, I should think. John didn't get in till very late last night, and Helen hardly ever appears till after breakfast. I suppose Miss Fletcher's going to the inquest?"
"Then you suppose wrong, sweetheart."
"Really? Very sensible of her, but I made sure she'd insist on going."
"I expect she would if she happened to know it was being held today," he agreed.
She regarded him curiously. "Do you mean you've managed to keep it from her?"
"No difficulty," he answered. "Entrancingly womanly woman, my aunt. Believes what the male tells her."
"But the papers! Doesn't she read them?"
"Oh yes! Front and middle page of The Times. All cheaper rags confiscated by adroit nephew, and put to ignoble uses."