soothingly, for Sylvia was beginning to show signs of hysterical
excitement. "He couldn't do anything else."

"He could have forgot," Sylvia returned, shrilly. "Men ain't so awful
conscientious about forgetting. He could have forgot."

"He had to tell," repeated Henry. "Don't get all wrought up over it,
Sylvia."

"I can't help it. I begin to feel guilty myself. I know I might have
found a kitten. I had a lot on my mind, with moving and everything,
but I might have done it. Albion Bennet never had the spunk to do
anything but tell all he knew. I suppose he was afraid of his own
precious neck."

"Ain't it most time to see about dinner?" asked Henry.

Then Sylvia went out of the room with a little hysterical twitter
like a scared bird, and the two men were left alone. Silence came
over them again. Both men looked moodily at nothing. Finally Henry
spoke.

"One of the worst features of any terrible thing like this is that
burdens innumerable are either heaped upon the shoulders of the
innocent, or they assume them. There's my poor wife actually trying
to make out that she is in some way to blame."

"Women are a queer lot," said Horace, in a miserable tone.

Then the door opened suddenly, and Sylvia's think, excited face