When the men went into the drawing-room Muriel Tredworth made a sign to Kelson; he joined her and, sitting down some distance apart from the rest, they carried on in low tones what seemed to be a serious conversation.

“I want to tell you of something extraordinary which has happened to me, Hugh.”  Gifford just caught the words as the girl led the way out of earshot.  He had noticed that she had been rather preoccupied during dinner, an unusual mood for so lively a girl, and now he could not help watching the pair in the distance, she talking with an earnest, troubled expression, and he listening to her story in grave wonderment, now and again interposing a few words.  Once they looked at Gifford, and he was certain they were speaking of him.

With the gloom of a tragedy over the house the little party could not be very festive; avoid it as they set themselves to do, the brooding subject could not be ignored, general conversation flagged, and it soon became time for the visitors to say good-night.

As they walked back to the town together Gifford noticed that his companion was unusually silent, and he tactfully forbore to break in upon his preoccupation.  At length Kelson spoke.

“Muriel has just been telling me of an unpleasant and unaccountable thing which happened to her this evening.  A discovery of a rather alarming character.  I said I would take your advice about it, Hugh, and she agreed.”

“Does it concern the affair at Wynford?”

“It may,” Kelson answered in a perplexed tone; “and yet I don’t well see how it can.  Anyhow it is uncommonly mysterious.  We won’t talk about it here,” he added gravely, “but wait till we get in.”

“Miss Morriston looked well to-night,” Gifford remarked, falling in with his friend’s wish to postpone the more engrossing subject.

“Yes,” Kelson agreed casually.  “She takes this ghastly business quietly enough.  But that is her way.”

“I have been wondering,” Gifford said, “how much she cares for Painswick.  He is manifestly quite smitten, but I doubt her being nearly as keen on him.”

Kelson laughed.  “If you ask me I don’t think she cares a bit for him.  And one can scarcely be surprised.  He is not a bad fellow, but rather a prig, and Edith Morriston is not exactly the sort of girl to suffer that type of man gladly.  But her brother is all for the match; from Painswick’s point of view she is just the wife for him, money and a statuesque style of beauty; altogether I shall be surprised if it does not come off.”

“They are not engaged, then?”

“I think not.  They say he proposes regularly once a week.  But she holds him off.”

Arrived at the Golden Lion they went straight up to Kelson’s room, where with more curiosity than he quite cared to show, Gifford settled himself to hear what the other had to tell him.

“I dare say you noticed how worried Muriel looked all dinner-time,” Kelson began.  “I thought that what had happened in the house had got on her nerves; but it was something worse than that; I mean touching her more nearly.”