“It isn’t so easy to die.”
“Did Mr. Towne speak of Sue Greyson?” inquired Mrs. Wadsworth.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing—much?”
“He must have said something. Couldn’t you judge of his feelings towards her?”
“I am not a detective.”
“H’m,” ejaculated Mrs. Wadsworth, glancing up at the uneasy lips, “if he can’t talk or sing, he can say something.”
“Possibly.”
Standing alone at one of the windows in her chamber, she watched the sun go down the last night of the old year.