"Would you mind naming them?" How low her tones were, but how distinct!
"Certainly not. Mrs. Veeley, Mrs. Gilbert, Miss Martin, and a—a"
"Go on," she whispered.
"A gentleman by the name of Clavering."
"You speak that name with evident embarrassment," she said, after a moment of intense anxiety on my part. "May I inquire why?"
Astounded, I raised my eyes to her face. It was very pale, and wore the old look of self-repressed calm I remembered so well. I immediately dropped my gaze.
"Why? because there are some circumstances surrounding him which have struck me as peculiar."
"How so?" she asked.
"He appears under two names. To-day it is Clavering; a short time ago it was"
"Go on."
"Robbins."
Her dress rustled on the hearth; there was a sound of desolation in it; but her voice when she spoke was expressionless as that of an automaton.
"How many times has this person, of whose name you do not appear to be certain, been to see Mary?"
"Once."
"When was it?"
"Last night."
"Did he stay long?"
"About twenty minutes, I should say."
"And do you think he will come again?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He has left the country."
A short silence followed this, I felt her eyes
