'Tell me,' said the girl mechanically, 'what was he doing with the revolver?'
Trist turned slowly and faced her. There was no hesitation in his glance now; his eyes looked straight into hers with a deliberate calm meaning. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
'Who knows?' he murmured, still watching her face.
There flitted across his features the mere ghost of a deprecating smile, which was answered somewhat wanly by her. Women, I have observed, never laugh at danger as men do. They are indifferent to it, or they dread it undisguisedly, but they do not at any time despise it.
When at length Brenda turned away she pressed her lips together as if to moisten them, and there was a convulsive movement in her throat. They understood each other thoroughly.
'There will, of course,' said Trist presently, 'be an inquest. It is, however, quite clear that, being left for a moment alone, he rose from his bed in a fit of temporary insanity, and having possessed himself of a revolver (possibly for suicidal purposes), he shot himself by accident.'
Brenda had crossed the room to the window, where she stood with her back towards her companion.
'Yes!' she murmured absently.
She was swaying a little from side to side, and her face was raised in an unnatural way. Trist stood upon the hearthrug, with his elbow resting on the mantelpiece. He was watching her attentively.
'I have,' he said somewhat hastily, as if it were an afterthought, 'some influence with the newspapers.'