I can quite imagine that he might have tried to kill her and that she might have stabbed him in self-defense. The body, they say—or Mr. Colebridge says—was dropped from a motor. They have a great way of hushing things up here, but we will try to find out all about it. Won't Connie adore being a widow again? Of course you won't say anything to anybody yet, as it would be so awfully disappointing if it should turn out to be some one else. How callous I am! But if you could have seen him——!
"Well, Stephen and I have been seeing life, and rolling about in Mr. Colebridge's car. The man won't take no for an answer when it comes to going out with him. Yesterday we went to the most wonderful little town—Gourdon, its name was—perched on top of a mountain, like an eagle, and looking over the Mediterranean for endless miles. I saw Italy, and I'm not at all sure I didn't see Africa. It was really the place of my dreams; the town fifteenth century, I imagine. I was in heaven there. I ran away from Mr. Colebridge and looked over the edge alone—down into the olive orchards. Not a sound but the cooing of pigeons and the far away tinkle of mule bells. And then Mr. C. came, with his cigar in his mouth and his black coat on, and talked about running a
