panted. "A trap. . . . Was it likely—they came from you?"
"You thought they came from someone else," he said.
"Yes," she said, "I did."
"Who?"
"Mr. Baynes."
"That boy!"
"Yes—that boy."
"Well!"
Lewisham looked about him—a man in the presence of the inconceivable.
"You mean to say you have been carrying on with that youngster behind my back?" he asked.
She opened her lips to speak and had no words to say.
His pallour increased until every tinge of colour had left his face. He laughed and then set his teeth. Husband and wife looked at one another.
"I never dreamt," he said in even tones.
He sat down on the bed, thrusting his feet among the scattered roses with a sort of grim satisfaction. "I never dreamt," he repeated, and the flimsy basket kicked by his swinging foot hopped indignantly through the folding doors into the living-room and left a trail of blood-red petals.
They sat for perhaps two minutes and when he
