"I never experienced such a feeling of horror as when I
read the account of Argentine's death. I didn't understand it
at the time, and I don't now. I knew him well, and it
completely passes my understanding for what possible cause he
--or any of the others for the matter of that--could have
resolved in cold blood to die in such an awful manner. You
know how men babble away each other's characters in London, you
may be sure any buried scandal or hidden skeleton would have
been brought to light in such a case as this; but nothing of the
sort has taken place. As for the theory of mania, that is very
well, of course, for the coroner's jury, but everybody knows
that it's all nonsense. Suicidal mania is not small-pox."

Austin relapsed into gloomy silence. Villiers sat
silent, also, watching his friend. The expression of
indecision still fleeted across his face; he seemed as if
weighing his thoughts in the balance, and the considerations he
was resolving left him still silent. Austin tried to shake off
the remembrance of tragedies as hopeless and perplexed as the
labyrinth of Daedalus, and began to talk in an indifferent voice
of the more pleasant incidents and adventures of the season.

"That Mrs. Beaumont," he said, "of whom we were
speaking, is a great success; she has taken London almost by
storm. I met her the other night at Fulham's; she is really a
remarkable woman."

"You have met Mrs. Beaumont?"

"Yes; she had quite a court around her. She would be