"You called him a poor devil--you pitied him."

"A man who could let Margaret Aubyn write to him in that way? Of
course I pity him."

"Then you MUST know who he is," cried Mrs. Armiger, with a
triumphant air of penetration.

Hartly and Flamel laughed and Dresham shook his head. "No one
knows; not even the publishers; so they tell me at least."

"So they tell you to tell us," Hartly astutely amended; and Mrs.
Armiger added, with the appearance of carrying the argument a
point farther, "But even if HE'S dead and SHE'S dead, somebody
must have given the letters to the publishers."

"A little bird, probably," said Dresham, smiling indulgently on
her deduction.

"A little bird of prey then--a vulture, I should say--" another
man interpolated.

"Oh, I'm not with you there," said Dresham, easily. "Those
letters belonged to the public."

"How can any letters belong to the public that weren't written to
the public?" Mrs. Touchett interposed.

"Well, these were, in a sense. A personality as big as Margaret