“Unfortunately,” she answered, “I am not aware of the truth.”
“But you are in possession of certain strange facts—eh?”
“That I am in possession of facts that lead me to certain conclusions, is the truth. But the clue is wanting. I have been seeking for it through all these months, but without success.”
“Cannot we act in accord in this matter, dearest? May I not be acquainted with the facts which, with your intimate knowledge of the Courtenay household, you were fully acquainted with at the time of the tragedy?” I urged.
“No, Ralph,” she replied, shaking her head, and at the same time pressing my hand. “I cannot yet tell you anything.”
“Then you have no confidence in me?” I asked reproachfully.
“It is not a question of confidence, but one of honour,” she replied.
“But you will at least satisfy my curiosity upon one point?” I exclaimed. “You will tell me the reason you lived beneath Courtenay’s roof?”
“You know the reason well. He was an invalid, and I went there to keep Mary company.”
I smiled at the lameness of her explanation. It was, however, an ingenious evasion of the truth, for, after all, I could not deny that I had known this through several years. Old Courtenay, being practically confined to his room, had himself suggested Ethelwynn bearing his young wife company.