"A dashed sight too young for Beecher Monmouth, I should think," remarked another. "What a rotten thing to happen to her. I wonder what made him shoot himself."
They speculated upon Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and her tragedy for some minutes, then rose to go.
In the meantime Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had reached her sitting-room. Strange to say, the fire no longer smoked. She turned swiftly to the sallow-skinned Cecily.
"Cecily!"
"Yes, madame."
"Go downstairs and find out which of those young officers was Lieutenant Parkson, of Heatherpoint Fort. You know how to find out?"
Cecily looked at her knowingly.
"Yes, madame."
Presently Cecily returned.
"Lieutenant Parkson, madame, was the one with the black hair and the little black moustache who sat facing you."