The spray of lilac fell to the ground. She rose quickly and made no
attempt to regain it.

"It is growing chilly," she said; "I will go into the house."

"A strange thing that my wife does not like the sea," said Lance.

But it was not strange to my mind--not strange at all.




CHAPTER VIII.


My suspicion, from that time, I felt was a truth. I knew that there were
characters so complex that no human being could understand them. Here
was a beautiful surface--Heaven only knew what lay underneath. There was
no outward brand of murder on the white brow, or red stain on the soft,
white hand. But day by day the certainty grew in my mind. Another thing
struck me very much. We were sitting one day quite alone on the grass
near a pretty little pool of water, called "Dutton Pool." In some parts
it was very shallow, in some very deep. Lance had gone somewhere on
business, and had left us to entertain each other. I had often noticed
that one of Mrs. Fleming's favorite ornaments was a golden locket with
one fine diamond in the center; she wore it suspended by a small chain
from her neck. As she sat talking to me she was playing with the chain,
when it suddenly became unfastened and the locket fell from it. In less
than a second it was hidden in the long grass. She looked for it in
silence for some minutes, then she said, gently: