“In a measure only,” he answered, his voice suddenly harsh and cold. “I have no suspicion that she ever reciprocated his affection, although in seeking to learn the truth of your friend’s tragic end she must have had some very strong motive.”
“Another fact I also discovered was a trifle curious,” I observed, after we had strolled along the deserted Terrace from end to end, discussing the details of Dudley’s death, and the manner in which it had affected her.
“What was it?” he inquired, glancing towards me.
“I found that she was in the habit of visiting every day a pretty Russian girl with whom I was acquainted.”
“Before marriage?” he asked, raising his eyebrows meaningly.
“Yes,” I answered. “She was a refugee, and I had been enabled to render her father a service some time before; therefore we had become friends. I had lost sight of her for a long time, and when I again met her I discovered that she had not only been an intimate friend of poor Dudley, but that Ella visited her frequently on her bicycle when she was supposed by her mother to be riding in the Park.”
“Was there anything remarkable in that fact?” he inquired, with a half-amused air, nevertheless regarding me with undue keenness, I thought.
“Nothing, except that the little Russian, who, having lost her father, was living a lonely life in a rather large house in Kensington, warned me against Ella, telling me she was my enemy. She, however, left without fulfilling her promise to reveal the details.”
“Your enemy!” he cried, laughing jocosely. “She was evidently jealous of your attentions to her, my boy. A Russian, too! She was a Nihilist, I suppose, or some interestingly romantic person of that sort, eh? Surely you didn’t heed what she said, did you?”
“Of course not,” I replied, with a forced laugh. “I loved Ella too well; so I married her.”