"From what I have already told you at different times, you will readily comprehend that Mrs. Melray the younger has a great deal of spare time on her hands which, I have no doubt, she sometimes finds it rather difficult to get through with satisfaction to herself. Previously to her husband's death (this is what she tells me), she subscribed to the local library; but, as a consequence of that event, her subscription has been allowed to lapse, and she is unwilling to take it up again just yet, feeling sure in her own mind that such a step would be disapproved of by her mother-in-law as savouring of disrespect for the dead. Now, the stock of books at Loudwater House is limited in number, and comprises but few volumes which would be likely to interest a young woman like Mrs. Melray, who has no special pursuits and no tastes in particular, unless it be a love of fiction (in its narrative form), which seems to be a part of the natural endowment of our sex. Under these circumstances, Mrs. Melray has several times asked me for the loan of whatever books or magazines I may happen to have by me (and, thanks to you, dear, I am kept pretty well supplied with both), a request with which I have very willingly complied.
"Well, in the course of the afternoon of Tuesday last, she came to me in the school-room to ask me whether I had anything by me which she had not yet read. As it happened, she had already pretty well exhausted my current supply. Then suddenly, while I stood with my finger on my lip, wondering whether I had anything left which would be likely to suit her, a great temptation assailed me. Low down in my heart a voice whispered: 'Why not give her "How, and Why" to read? That it will startle and surprise her can hardly be doubted, for whether she is as innocent as I believe her to be, or whether, if she chose to do so, she could clear up the mystery of her husband's death, the story can scarcely fail to recall vividly to her mind every circumstance connected with that event, while it is next to impossible to credit that she can be so blind as not to comprehend that, intermixed with a lot of fictitious matter, it is the story of Mr. Melray's tragical end which is being thus retold by some unknown pen. Scarcely less can she fail to see that the "old man's darling," who plays such an important part in the narrative, is intended for none other than herself. In any case, the reading of it by her can do no possible harm, and there is just a chance--a very faint one, I admit--that something unforeseen may result therefrom.'
"(That something unforeseen has resulted therefrom you will presently have ample proof.)
"Such were the thoughts that flashed through my mind during the three or four seconds that I stood with my finger on my lip. Then, turning to Mrs. Melray, I said: 'I am afraid that you have all but exhausted my supply till a fresh one comes to hand. However, I will see what I can find.'
"I confess that my heart beat a little faster than common as I brought from my bedroom the number of The Family Cornucopia, and placed it in her hands. So lonely is her life that she spends an hour or two most forenoons in the school-room with Freddy and me; accordingly I was not at all surprised when she drew her chair up to the fire and settled herself for what she calls a 'comfortable read.'
"I watched her furtively, feeling pretty sure that, as a child picks the biggest currants out of its cake first of all, so would she pick out the story 'How, and Why' from the rest of the somewhat dry and jejune contents of the magazine. First her face flushed, and then, a few seconds later, paled as suddenly; then she flashed a look at me and caught my eyes fixed on her, with, it may be, a directness in their gaze which she found somewhat disconcerting. Anyhow, hers were the first to drop. For a minute or more she sat staring into the fire, her little pearly teeth biting into the crimson of her under-lip. Then, as if she had come to some resolve, she got up suddenly, and, looking me steadily in the face, said in tones as steady as her gaze: 'It is not often that I am troubled with a headache, but one has laid hold of me this afternoon. If you don't mind, dear Miss Sudlow, I will take this magazine to my own room and read it there.' Of course I told her that I did not mind in the least, and that I hoped her headache would soon pass off. Whereupon, with the palm of one hand pressed to her brow, and smiling a little strangely, she went, taking the story with her.
"For the rest of the day nothing more was seen of Mrs. Melray. At dinner-time she sent down word that she had a bad headache, and apparently she had not got rid of it by next morning, seeing that she failed to appear at the breakfast-table, neither was she visible at luncheon. But a surprise was in store for me. In the course of the afternoon a note was brought me by Charlotte the housemaid. Here it is:
"'Dear Miss Sudlow,--Will you oblige me by coming to my room as soon as Freddy's lessons for the day are over?
"'Yours sincerely,
"'Denia Melray.'