Margaret was white, her lips tense, the brilliancy of her large eyes almost unnatural.
“Tell me about them.”
“What can I tell you? They were bright, lively little men. They amused my friends by their quaint ideas, and interested us at times by recounting incidents of life in the East.”
“Were they all ‘little’? Was one of them a man of unusual stature?”
“No,” said Margaret
The barrister knew that she was profoundly distressed.
“If she would be candid with me,” he mused, “I would tear the heart from this mystery to-night.”
One other among those present caught the hidden drift of this small colloquy. Robert Frazer looked sadly at his cousin. Natures that are closely allied have an electric sympathy. He could not even darkly discern the truth, but he connected Brett’s words in some remote way with Capella. How he loathed the despicable Italian who left his wife to bear alone the trouble that oppressed her—who only went away in order to concoct some villainy against her.
Margaret could not face the barrister’s thoughtful, searching gaze. She stood up—like the others of her race when danger threatened. She even laughed harshly.
“I have decided,” she said, “to leave here to-morrow morning. Helen says she does not object Our united wardrobes will serve all needs of the seaside. Robert’s tailor visited him to-day, and assured him that the result would be satisfactory without any preliminary ‘trying on.’ Do you approve, Mr. Brett?”