Miss More was too discreet to ask the question which Margaret’s unfinished sentence suggested, but she would not let the speech pass quite unanswered.

‘He is often misjudged,’ she said.  ’In business he may be what many people say he is.  I don’t understand business!  But I have known him to help people who needed help badly and who never guessed that he even knew their names.’

‘You must be right,’ Margaret answered.

She remembered the last words of the girl who had died in the manager’s room at the theatre.  There had been a secret.  The secret was that Mr. Van Torp had done the thing, whatever it was.  She had probably not known what she was saying, but it had been on her mind to say that Mr. Van Torp had done it, the man she was to have married.  Margaret’s first impression had been that the thing done must have been something very bad, because she herself disliked the man so much; but Miss More knew him, and since he often did ’very, very kind things,’ it was possible that the particular action of which the dying girl was thinking might have been a charitable one; possibly he had confided the secret to her.  Margaret smiled rather cruelly at her own superior knowledge of the world—­yes, he had told the girl about that ‘secret’ charity in order to make a good impression on her!  Perhaps that was his favourite method of interesting women; if it was, he had not invented it.  Margaret thought she could have told Miss More something which would have thrown another light on Mr. Van Torp’s character.

Her reflections had led her back to the painful scene at the theatre, and she remembered the account of it the next day, and the fact that the girl’s name had been Ida.  To change the subject she asked her neighbour an idle question.

‘What is the little girl’s full name?’ she inquired.

‘Ida Moon,’ answered Miss More.

‘Moon?’ Margaret turned her head sharply.  ’May I ask if she is any relation of the California Senator who died last year?’

‘She is his daughter,’ said Miss More quietly.

Margaret laid one hand on the arm of her chair and leaned forward a little, so as to see the child better.

‘Really!’ she exclaimed, rather deliberately, as if she had chosen that particular word out of a number that suggested themselves.  ‘Really!’ she repeated, still more slowly, and then leaned back again and looked at the grey waves.

She remembered the notice of Miss Bamberger’s death.  It had described the deceased as the only child of Hannah Moon by her former marriage with Isidore Bamberger.  But Hannah Moon, as Margaret happened to know, was now the widow of Senator Alvah Moon.  Therefore the little deaf child was the half-sister of the girl who had died at the theatre in Margaret’s arms and had been christened by the same name.  Therefore, also, she was related to Margaret, whose mother had been the California magnate’s cousin.