She stopped short, and Benham nodded for her to go on.
“Her father,” said Lady Marayne.
“But who was Morris? Really, mother, I don't remember.”
“He was sentenced to seven years—ten years—I forget. He had done all sorts of dreadful things. He was a swindler. And when he went out of the dock into the waiting-room— He had a signet ring with prussic acid in it—...”
“I remember now,” he said.
A silence fell between them.
Benham stood quite motionless on the hearthrug and stared very hard at the little volume of Henley's poetry that lay upon the table.
He cleared his throat presently.
“You can't go and see them then,” he said. “After all—since I am going abroad so soon—... It doesn't so very much matter.”
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