just a narrow band of white muslin at her wrists and neck set off
the dazzling clearness of her skin.

"Of course I came. I thought you might want me, or might like to
know the latest news," he answered, as he held her hands in his
for a few seconds longer than was perhaps absolutely necessary.

"Oh, do tell me! Is there anything fresh?" There was a flash of
crimson colour in her cheek, which faded almost instantly.

"This much. They have found out who the man was."

"Really? Positively? Whom do they say now?"

"Perhaps I had better not tell you. It may surprise you, shock you
to hear. I think you knew him--"

"Nothing can well shock me now. I have had too many shocks
already. Who do they think it is?"

"A Mr. Quadling, a banker, who is supposed to have absconded from
Rome."

She received the news so impassively, with such strange self-possession,
that for a moment he was disappointed in her. But then, quick to excuse,
he suggested:

"You may have already heard?"

"Yes; the police people at the railway station told me they