She sat down quietly and for a few moments did not speak.  A slight trembling of the lower lip was the only indication of the strain under which she was laboring.  Finally she said: 

“I am very sorry that I deceived you yesterday morning.”

He waved his hand lightly.

“I was not deceived; so there was no harm done,” he explained.

She began tugging nervously at her gloves, much as she had done a few mornings before.  Her face was still composed; but deep in her beautiful eyes was an expression of fear.

“I might have known that I could not do it,” she said.  “But the impulse came to me to deny everything as the easiest and safest way out of it all; and I obeyed it.  I was not calm enough to consider the possible harm that it might do.  However,” and her firm voice broke a little, “I suppose the newspapers would have ferreted out the facts in any event.”

“They are very keen in the pursuit of anything that promises a good story,” agreed the investigator.  “But if you had given me the facts as you intended doing when you called me on the ’phone yesterday morning, I’d have had twenty-four hours start of them, at least.”

She leaned toward him earnestly.

“I am going to be frank with you now,” she said.  “And perhaps it is not yet too late.  I did intend telling you everything when I telephoned you, but, as I have said, the impulse came to hide it, instead!”

“It was fear,” said Ashton-Kirk, “and was, perhaps, perfectly natural under the circumstances.”

“When I left you two mornings ago,” said Miss Vale, “I felt easier in my mind than I had in months before.  From what I had heard of you, I felt sure that the little problem which I had set you would prove absurdly simple.  This feeling clung to me all day; I was light and happy, and astonished my aunt, Mrs. Page, by consenting to go with her to Mrs. Barron’s that night, a thing that I had been refusing to do for a long time.

“Late in the afternoon, Allan—­Mr. Morris—­came.  As soon as I saw him I knew that something had happened or was about to happen.  There was no color in his face; his eyes had a feverish glitter, his voice was high pitched and excited.  But I did not let him see that I noticed this.  I talked to him quietly about a score of things; and by a most circuitous route approached the matter that interested me most—­our marriage.

“To my surprise he plunged into the subject with the greatest eagerness.  Before that, as I have told you, he always did his best to avoid it; the least mention of it seemed to sadden him, to cause him pain.  But now he discussed it excitedly; apparently it was no longer a dim, far-off thing, but one which he saw very clearly.  As you may imagine, I was both astonished and delighted.  But this was only at first.  In a little while I noticed something in his tone, in his manner, in his feverish eyes that I did not like.”