"You are clever, Mr. Brett. If you can interpret a criminal's designs as
well as you can read a woman's heart you must be a terror to evil-doers."

A slight colour came into her cheeks. The barrister leaned forward, his
hands clasped and arms resting on his knees.

"I have just seen your husband," he said.

She exhibited no marked sign of emotion but he thought he detected a
frightened look in her eyes.

"Again I ask," she exclaimed, "why do you tell me?"

"The reason is obvious. You ought to know all that goes on. There was a
quarrel this morning between him and David Hume. Your husband wished me to
arrange a duel. I promised him a visit from the police if I heard any more
of such nonsense."

"A duel! More bloodshed!" she almost whispered.

"Do not have any alarm for either of them. They are quite safe. I will
guarantee so much, at any rate. But your husband is a somewhat curious
person. He is prone to strong and sudden hatreds--and attachments."

Margaret pressed her hands to her face. She could no longer bear the
torture of make-believe quiescence.

"Oh, what shall I do!" she wailed. "I am the most miserable woman in
England to-day, and I might have been the happiest."